Legacy of Valshannar
by Servant of GOD
Summary: Sequel to Hammer of Terrascars. The lords of Elibe saw naught but a boy, yet the afflicted knew the gods' envoy. Glory shall forever embalm his name: Roy of Pherae, hero of undying fame.
1. Prologue

_Author's Corner:_

_As of this day, November 19th, on the two thousand and fifth year of our Lord, Legacy of Valshannar has begun. The winds of war have begun to hasten, the lords marshall their forces in preparation for battle, and the vultures gather for the feast._

_Prepare yourself accordingly._

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**Legacy of Valshannar - Prologue**

Though the imperial court was filled to capacity with courtiers and advisors, Cecilia couldn't help but notice the subdued atmosphere that hung over the crowd like a dense fog. King Mordred, the first of his name, had become increasingly sluggish and disillusioned with worldly affairs ever since the unfortunate death of Prince Mildain, the Imperial Heir. Often, key decisions regarding Etruria's future were left in the hands of selfish and egotistical nobles who looked no further than their pockets. This only increased her anxiety for the future of Etruria as Cecilia combed a hand through her dark green hair with a sigh. Beside her, the Knight General Percival and the Great General Douglas stood silently. Percival's blonde hair still bore the dark marks of youth that contrasted with Douglas' graying brown hair. Nevertheless, the two knights did not move a muscle despite the long hours they remained standing.

Ordinarily, Cecilia would be more than supportive of the king's grief, especially since Prince Mildain was the only child of King Mordred. _However, _Cecilia reflected bitterly, _Elibe is not the same peaceful world it was twenty years ago._

Twenty years ago, Cecilia played an essential role in the long odyssey of triumphs that ultimately averted Elibe from disaster. Though the harrowing journey was fraught with perils and danger, Cecilia noted that the campaign was, more or less, waged during an era of relative peace and prosperity. The same could not be said of the current age and time.

_Especially since the great lords of the past are long gone, _Cecilia thought with despair as she reflected upon the correspondence that arrived two days ago from Lord Hector.

Cecilia had, during her first tour of duty twenty years ago, acquainted herself with several key figures in the Lycian League. They included Lord Hector of Ostia, Lord Eliwood of Pherae, and Lady Lyndis of Caelin. After reading the letter, Cecilia found to her growing dismay that Lord Eliwood had fallen ill, though hopefully he'd survive the illness. She also found the confirmation of the death of Lady Lyndis.

Lady Lyndis had, after the death of her grandfather, Lord Hausen, abdicated the throne of Caelin and returned to the plains of Sacae many years in the past. Rumor has it that Lady Lyndis never recovered from the death of her most beloved companion and eventually withered, despite the utmost care of the Kutolah Clan. Though all the companions grieved for the fall of Mark, no one took the blow harder than Lyndis herself.

_And what I would give for Sir Mark to be alive this day and lend his considerable aid to Elibe, _Cecilia shook her head; _I would be at ease even if every nation on the face of Elibe were attacking us if I knew Sir Mark was leading our armies._

"Make way! Make way!"

Cecilia's musings were curtailed as a bloodstained messenger stumbled his way across the slippery marble floors. The youth's armor was cracked in several areas, blood matting his dirty blonde hair. The Pegasus Crest on his cracked shield denoted him as a knight of Ilia. Skidding to a stop before the throne, the messenger dropped haltingly to one knee before holding up his dispatch with both hands.

"Your Majesty!" The messenger gasped, "Ilia is on the verge of collapsing before the hosts of Bern. Ilia entreats, no, _begs_ Etruria to honor the Pact of Windcrest made in years past and come to Ilia's aid!"

The Pact of Windcrest was an agreement signed between Ilia and Etruria roughly twenty five years in the past. Ilia was traditionally ruled by an assembly composed of senior Pegasus knights or mercenary knights. During a brief period of political upheaval, a few members of the assembly sought to consolidate their power by eliminating the other members. A brief civil war followed, in which Etruria dispatched a small army to aid in quelling the rebellion. Grateful for the timely Etrurian assistance, Ilia offered its mighty Pegasus fleets to return the favor whenever it was needed. The ruling Etrurian King had generously refused the offer, stating that Etruria was always ready to aid its neighbors. In the ensuing treaty signed between the two nations, Etruria pledged to assist Ilia in its time of need while Ilia's fleets would always place Etruria's request for mercenaries as its first priority.

King Mordred coughed slightly before motioning Lord Roartz to bring the sealed parchment. The most powerful of the king's advisors, Roartz treated the message with nothing but disdain as he snatched the parchment from the messenger's hands. Breaking the wax seal and reading the contents without handing the matter to the king, Roartz smirked with amusement.

"The Pact of Windcrest, eh?" Roartz leered, "What a pitiful mistake in the past it was to ally ourselves with such a pathetic wasteland. What is it if not a blank check for Ilia to call upon whenever it meets the slightest of difficulties?"

Holding his anger in check, the messenger grimaced, "Milord, Ilia has long provided noble Etruria with fleets of loyal, efficient and brave pegasus knights. Why, the Subjugation Wars in the past could not have been won with…"

"Silence!" Roartz barked, "Etruria has paid for every service Ilia rendered with the required sum and owes no favors to Ilia. Let your frozen turf break under the hooves of Bern for all we care. Is that no so, milords?"

Lord Arcard, a member of the high nobility but possessing no importance save being Roartz's greatest supporter, boomed his agreement, "Indeed! Sacae has been conquered and Ilia soon to be overrun. We should be looking to our own defenses rather than busying ourselves with the affairs of foreign and might I add," Arcard smirked, "inferior nations?"

The messenger colored in fury, "I… We…"

"See?" Arcard pointed, "The savages can barely speak intelligibly!"

The courtiers and sycophants burst into a mocking laughter, but the Generals of Etruria did not laugh. Sputtering with humiliation, the messenger arose and bowed curtly before moving to quit the room.

Roartz raised a hand majestically, "Halt, did we grant you permission to leave?"

Beside Cecilia, both Percival and Douglas stiffened. Only King Mordred had the power to dismiss or grant audience to foreign dignitaries! How dare a noble usurp the king's authority! The Three Generals waited in vain for the king to grant a reply.

The messenger turned around haughtily, "I am a knight of Ilia! Though born in a frozen hell, Ilia is still my home and my country! Even if no other nation in Elibe shall come to our aid, the knights of Ilia will fight to the death if necessary!" The knight paused to take breath before adding pitilessly, "Let my rebuff be the death knell of Etrurian honor!"

Choking with rage and shame, Roartz roared futilely, "Stop that man!" Ashamed of the treatment done to a fellow knight, not a single military man lifted a hand to stop the proud Ilian.

"Your Majesty!" Cecilia protested as the Ilian knight disappeared, "Surely this cannot be condoned! The Pact of Windcrest was forged a dozen years ago by General Valshannar before the last Terrascar Purge! Do we frown upon his memory by spitting upon Ilia's request?"

"The Mad Genius," Arcard said contemptuously, "was a traitor, a deserter, and a coward. Why honor his word?"

Cecilia, Percival and Douglas all gave Arcard a glare that promised death should the noble malign the name of Valshannar again. Douglas had served alongside the man during the lengthy and problematic Subjugation Wars while both Cecilia and Percival had studied under the vaunted Lord of the Silver Vanguard. Though Percival and Douglas did not always see eye to eye with the Valshannar General, they respected his military prowess and unerring dedication to Etruria. His loss was a grievous blow to the Etrurian military infrastructure. Arcard cowered underneath their combined gaze and did not speak another word.

"If Ilia should fall," Cecilia continued after ensuring Arcard remained silent, "Then Bern will control both the Ilian and Sacaen borders to Etruria! This already presents a two-pronged assault that Etruria will be hard-pressed to defend against. If Lycia were to fall next…"

"Lycia," Roartz rolled the name off the tip of his tongue, "Another group of petty fools that do not know the true meaning of nobility. Do you favor the Lycians because of your close relationship with the Lycian lords, particularly with your pupil, Roy of Pherae? My, my, isn't he too young for your tastes?"

"How dare you…!" Cecilia's eyes were ready to spit fire at this point while Percival seemed ready to go for his sword, but a stern glance from Douglas quelled them both. Again, their united glances were directed towards King Mordred.

"Your Majesty?" Roartz said silkily, "You must be tired. Please rest yourself while I," he cast a cold glance at the Three Generals, "Deal with this troublesome situation…"

"Yes," the king murmured hoarsely, "That… would be best." Raising his hands, King Mordred was helped to his chambers by two Royal Guards.

Roartz watched with satisfaction as the king departed. He turned back to the court, "Now where were we? Oh, this talk of war and battle has exhausted the tender ears of His Majesty. Let us reconvene at a more," he smirked sardonically, "appropriate time… Dismissed…"

As the courtiers and members of the court emptied the throne room, Cecilia found herself walking alongside Douglas and Percival. Throwing a despairing look at the two of them, Cecilia shook her head sadly.

"Your concerns are quite valid, Cecilia," Percival observed, "But I fear you rushed things quite a bit. This is the first time in several months we were able to bypass Roartz' interference and present ourselves in court."

Cecilia nodded, "I understand. I apologize for…"

"Do not apologize," Percival cut her off, "I agree with what you were trying to knock into those thick-headed, egotistical idiots who call themselves nobles. But what I'm trying to say is…"

"This would all be different if Prince Mildain was alive," Douglas said.

Cecilia and Percival both grimaced. Percival sighed, "I wasn't about to say that, but General Douglas is also correct in that regard."

"Though unfortunately, it seems to be the only solution to every obstacle at court," Cecilia observed drolly.

Douglas nodded, "There is no use crying over spilt milk. The loss of Prince Mildain was a terrible blow to Etruria, but we must make do without him. Etruria still looks to the three of us to protect its borders."

"Hopefully we can soon make that four," Percival noted, "What do you two think of young Klein?"

"I think I'm the only one who can use the term 'young,' Percival," Douglas boomed with a laugh. "He shows promise. And he has the added advantage of being the son of Lord Pent."

"He might have the connections to infiltrate the court," Cecilia said, "Since he is of high birth, Roartz cannot block him from presenting ideas to the king! So…"

"We shall see," Douglas chided, "The Archery General is still a recent addition to the Etrurian military, so we will have to wait for young Klein to prove himself worthy. Only then will he be given a position where he is capable of influencing the court."

The discussions of the Three Generals trailed away as they made their way out of the palace.

_

* * *

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A proud lion standard, the sigil of Osita that carried both sword and ax, fluttered gaily over Castle Araphen. For the first time in its history, the fortress found itself armed to the teeth and filled to capacity. Typically, the castle was only crewed by a token force of militia supplemented by an equally sized group of mercenaries. All of this changed when Bern began mobilizing its troops across the border.

Seeing that invasion was imminent, Lord Hector summoned the Lycian Lords from near and far to Castle Araphen. Under the Lycian Covenant, the various marquesses were honor bound to rally their retainers and assist in the national defense. As a loose coalition of peers, no single Lycian state possessed sufficient strength to combat Bern on its own. When faced with the paramount threat of invasion, the marquesses thrust aside their private scruples in order to do battle against Bern.

A week after the first heralds were sent across Lycia, the various lords began trickling into ARaphen. Hector, as Lord of Ostia and the recognized head of Lycia, arrived first at the head of six score armored knights. Marquess Sarpedon of Kathelet appeared shortly afterwards, leading several dozen militia. Marquess Orun, Hector's half brother, pleaded illness but managed to send his son, Pandarus, with fifty spearmen. Sir Kent held stewardship over Caelin in Ostia's name since the abdication of Lady Lyndis many years prior. Restricted by his injuries in previous battles, Kent nevertheless dispatched some two score archers along with three dozen mounted knights. Rhesus of Santaruz, grandnephew to Marquess Helman, appeared before the gates of Castle Araphen with fifty swordsmen. Marquess Dolon of Tuscanny arrived last with three score ax men and several wagons of supplies. Combined with Araphen's available soldiers, the Lycian Alliance Army fielded nearly four hundred men-at-arms.

Hector, however, frowned at the limited amount of warriors at his disposal. Standing on a balcony that overlooked the castle courtyard, Hector surveyed the army as the soldiers assembled into a formation. Laus and Pherae had not arrived yet, and with them disappeared any hopes of heavy cavalry. Laus, as proven twenty years ago, fielded a goodly number of stout cavaliers, though their skills and courage paled in comparison to the mighty Pheraen mounted division. To make matters worse, word came that his good friend Eliwood of Pherae was ill and would most likely be unavailable for the upcoming battle.

_I haven't seen him in a few years, _Hector thought, _with so many bloody liars and sycophants springing up all over Lycia, what I wouldn't give to have a trustworthy comrade in this nearly impossible battle._

'Impossible' seemed to sum up the situation quite nicely. Despite Hector's petitions, most of the marquesses brought only token forces to aid Araphen, leaving badly needed soldiers to 'defend' their holdings. The mere thought of that made Hector grit his teeth in frustration.

_Why can't those idiots understand that if we don't win this bloody battle, there won't be any holdings to return to? If Bern crushes the resistance at Araphen, Lycia's independence is as good as gone!_

Bern was widely regarded as the greatest military power in Elibe, and not for little reason. The Bern standing army was capable of deploying nearly _four thousand_ soldiers at any given time. Etruria, as the second powerhouse in Elibe, once possessed a similar army size, but that has severely deteriorated since the collapse of the Silver Vanguard at the end of the Terrascar Purges. Currently, Etruria was capable of mobilizing roughly two thousand professional soldiers. Needless to say, Lycia didn't stand a chance of matching either country in numbers.

"Lord Hector," a voice sounded behind the Ostian Lord, "would you like to address the army?"

"In a moment," Hector replied, "I will need to meet with the other lords afterwards. Have them assemble in the throne room, sir…?"

"They call me Sain, Lord Hector."

Hector turned around in astonishment. Sure enough, the Green Lance of Caelin stood smirking before the eyes of a befuddled Ostian Lord. Sain's graying hair and wrinkles clearly said that twenty years have taken their toll on the boisterous cavalier. However, the same cocky smile from twenty years ago was still plastered on his face.

"By St. Elimine, what the devil are you doing here?" Hector asked.

Sain's smile widened even further, "Same as you are, Lord Hector. I have an interest in defending Lycia's future."

Hector shook his head, "Last I recalled, you had resigned your commission as Caelin's Assistant Knight Commander and became a free knight. What prompted you to return?"

"I received a letter from my bosom companion, Kent," Sain replied, "I know that fighting is no longer possible for Kent, but someone needed to lead Caelin's forces into battle. No invader from Bern shall trample my fair memories of Caelin and Lady Lyndis."

Hector sighed, "Speaking of Lyn, have you heard…?"

"I was there, Lord Hector," Sain said sadly, "I held last vigil for her along with her husband, Rath. Do you remember him?"

"Yes," Hector recalled, "I never saw him miss a mark before. How is he doing?"

Sain's sad smile did not change, "He's gone too. Rath was killed in battle when Bern overran Sacae."

"What?" Hector exclaimed, "The last report I received was that Bern besieged Bulgar!"

"That was two weeks ago," Sain corrected, "With the help of the treacherous Djute Clan, Bulgar was sacked and the Kutolah scattered to the four winds. Sacae is now in Bern's iron grip, though Ilia is not far from that fate either."

Hector smashed an armored fist into the stone balcony and cursed, "With Etruria hesitant to respond, that leaves Lycia alone to brave Bern's storm."

"Any word from Laus or Pherae?" Sain asked.

"None," Hector admitted, "Eliwood's incapacitated, though his son, Roy, is hurrying back to Pherae to assume command. Erik, on the other hand…"

Sain grimaced, "I never understood why you didn't sack him years ago, Lord Hector."

"That decision was out of my hands," Hector growled, "I would upset the balance of power if I started by tenure by sacking lords left and right. With Marquess Helman and Darin dying of 'questionable' causes, the fall of Erik would spark widespread panic in Lycia."

"I take it that the rest of Lycia didn't know about Nergal," Sain said with a frown.

"And I wasn't about to inform them either," Hector replied, "Some things are best left buried, where men do not pry. Anyhow, Erik then proceeds to dazzle everyone save Eliwood and I with his ludicrous promises of reforming his ways. Naturally, we haven't managed to find any means of refuting his argument in the past twenty years."

"Lord Hector!"

"What is it now?" Hector replied impatiently.

A winded soldier saluted, "Outriders have sighted Bern's army approaching Castle Araphen! Scouts estimate that there are roughly two regiments!"

"A full thousand," Sain murmured.

"When will they arrive?" Hector growled.

"They'll be here in two weeks, Lord Hector."

"Two weeks?" Sain and Hector exchanged a glance, "Bern's invasion force needs two weeks to transverse forty miles?"

The soldier hesitated, "Outriders report that this host is moving extremely slowly, Lord Hector."

"Feh," Hector grunted, "With luck, Eliwood will be here with a retinue of Pheraen cavalry by then. Until then, we can do little more than defend this castle."

"Outclassed and outnumbered," Sain shook his head, "At least we have enough supplies for the time being. Quartermaster reports that we have enough supplies to last us until the shipment from Ostia three days from now."

"So why are they taking so long?" Hector asked, "That army can arrive at Castle Araphen within a week, yet they purposefully delay their march. What are they plotting?"

Neither Sain nor Hector wanted to dwell on the possibilities.

"You know who could tell us that?"

"Yeah," Hector replied grimly, "Mark."

_

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On all accounts, a Bern war camp was designed for battle at the cost of comfort. Surrounded by a forest of wooden palisades, it was only accessible through four heavily guarded gates. Inside these daunting barriers, the camp was divided into four equal partitions, crisscrossed by two roads separating them. If breeched, the defense could be fought tent by tent in order to prevent any foe from reaching the central command. In the center of this makeshift fortress, five pavilions were erected. Each surrounded by an array of banners, only the centermost pavilion was graced by the presence of the mighty Bern Triple Crown, the symbol of Bern royalty. The Triple Crown was not a trio of crowns at all. Instead, the emblem portrayed two crossed swords of incredible caliber topped by a single golden war helm. To the learned individual, the crown symbolized the royal line of Hartmut while the two swords were Exxacus and the Sword of Seals. However, few humans in Elibe now recognized these reminders of a glorious past.

As befitting the greatest military power in Elibe, Bern's war camp was alive with activity. Soldiers everywhere were occupied in their assigned tasks, be they sharpening weapons, drawing supplies, or grooming the horses. The entire army was like a well-oiled war machine: fluid, competent and merciless in battle. Unlike their relaxed Etrurian or Lycian counterparts, Bern soldiers carried themselves with a dedication derived from their long-standing confidence in their abilities. Not a moment was spent in idleness when every second could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Granted, Bern did not taste the latter very often.

Zephiel, King of Bern, stood stiffly before the tent flaps that led to his residence. Slightly behind him, a slim, hooded, dark-robed priestess waited patiently. While Zephiel was regarded by his subordinates as the exemplary model of a warrior, the same could not be said of the priestess. More than one soldier had uneasily remarked the chilling, almost inhuman aura that the priestess seemed to exude. Not that the sinister Royal Guard members with glowing red eyes were any improvement. These comments, of course, were never spoken in the king's presence.

"Brenya," Zephiel asked, "Has Narshen arrived yet?"

The willowy Dragon Lord emerged from a nearby pavilion. The purple-haired sage was several years younger than Zephiel, but her loyalty to the king rivaled even General Murdock. Brenya was assigned as part of Zephiel's personal retinue since her youth and was known to be an ardent supporter of the king. Over the years, there sprouted several rumors that her loyalty bordered on an unrequited infatuation, something that Brenya fiercely denied. Nevertheless, both she and Murdock served as competent and unflappable commanders during the respective Sacaen and Ilian campaigns.

"No, my liege," Brenya replied smoothly, "Though General Narshen did send a dispatch claiming he'd present a mighty gift."

Zephiel nodded imperiously, "A gift? Narshen's voracious appetites are well known to cause countless complications. For his sake, this 'gift' he bears had better not be an imitation of the previous one."

Brenya inwardly scowled at the images Zephiel's comment conjured up. During his brief exercise in Ilia, Narshen had returned with several female captives. Hoping to curry favor with his master, Narshen had presented his spoils to the king, only to have a furious Brenya personally eject the general from the king's audience chamber. She then released the captives and allowed them to return home unscathed.

"His skills are fairly impressive," Zephiel continued, "However, Narshen would do well to curb his desires and focus more on his objectives."

"Your Majesty," Brenya said, "Are you certain with giving Narshen the responsibility of sacking Lycia? Surely someone more trustworthy could…"

"Xavier believed Narshen to be proficient enough for this assignment," Zephiel replied, "Brenya, you comprehend as well as we do that Xavier is _never_ mistaken."

That silenced Brenya. Ever since the aging tutor had arrived at the Royal Court, he had revolutionized the Inner Court, as Zephiel named it. While King Desmond reigned over the courtiers and squabbles of Bern's Royal Court, Zephiel closeted himself with Brenya, Guinevere and Xavier. With Murdock ensuring that no one disturbed their lessons, Zephiel, Guinevere and Brenya listened in rapture as Xavier conveyed his knowledge to them all. To Zephiel, Xavier imparted the keys to kingship and royalty. To Guinevere, Xavier was like a second grandfather who patiently fostered her growing thirst for literature and serenity. To Brenya, Xavier taught the ways of war and the secrets of strategy. Much of Bern's present day supremacy could be attributed to the painstaking twenty years Xavier invested in Zephiel and Brenya.

"Narshen has repeatedly complained to us that he has never received an opportunity to attest his valor," Zephiel continued gravely, "Let Lycia be his trying grounds. Should he prove inadequate to the task, then Gale will replace him."

Gale was, in Brenya's opinion, a much more reliable candidate for a Dragon Lord. Skilled, cunning, honorable, tactful and humble, Gale exhibited Narshen's skill in battle but without Narshen's recklessness and unpredictability. The favored companion of Guinevere's bodyguard, Miledy, Gale would've been the logical choice had not hampered by his land of birth. Born a native of Ilia, Gale's position was superceded by Narshen, a native of Bern. Bern had always been suspicious of outlanders and aliens, preferring to staff its armies with officers drawn from Bern itself. This perhaps would explain why Narshen was a Dragon General while Gale served only as General Murdock's lieutenant.

"General Brenya! Your Majesty!"

A messenger was stopped by two robed members of the Royal Guard. Tall and imposing, they blocked the path of the messenger with their brawny hands.

"State your business," one of them said with a hiss.

The messenger gulped, "Your Majesty, General Narshen has arrived with his squadron. He has an urgent matter requires your immediate attention!"

_Took him long enough,_ Brenya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

"Very well, bring him before us," Zephiel said.

A few moments later, Narshen arrived with his personal guards. Haughty, proud and stubborn, the blond general carried himself like a man utterly confident in his abilities. The minor technicality was that he never proved those 'legendary' skills to anyone save himself. However, his entire pompous attitude dissipated in the presence of his master. The arrogant smirk on his face faded into the perfect visage of a fawning lapdog. Halting half a dozen yards before Zephiel, Narshen performed an elegant bow with a flourish.

_Flattering snake, _Brenya inwardly growled, but did not visibly express her disgust.

"Your Majesty," Narshen said silkily, "I humbly thank thee for allowing such a lowly, unworthy creature into your awesome presence."

_Damn right, _Brenya thought.

As if divining Brenya's thoughts, Zephiel glanced towards her briefly before addressing Narshen, "You have certainly taken your time, Narshen. You were ordered to appear before us three candle marks ago. Under Bern law, tardy appearance before one's king is punishable by death. We trust that you have a sufficient excuse for this transgression?"

Much to Brenya's satisfaction, Narshen paled considerably, "I beg pardon, my liege. I lost several candle marks while circumventing the skies of Lycia."

Brenya was aghast, "Lycia? The army is about to engage the Lycian Alliance Army at Araphen are you are spending your time chasing skirts in Lycia?"

Narshen feigned injury, "General Brenya, you wound me! What could possibly have done to give you such an impression?"

_Do I need to give a list?_ Brenya glared at the general without reply.

"Enough," Zephiel's voice cut through the argument like a blade of ice, "Narshen has yet to make his report. You can question him at your leisure afterwards, Brenya."

Narshen inwardly fumed at Zephiel's indirect manner of placing Brenya above him and struggled to maintain his composure, "Your Majesty, might I present…" Narshen gestured to a dismounted cavalier behind him, "Marquess Erik of Laus…"

The cavalier slowly removed his helm, revealing the features of a middle-aged man. Erik knelt before Zephiel, presenting his back in a token form of submission.

"Your Majesty," Erik said smoothly, "It is awe-inspiring to pay homage to you."

_Another Narshen, _Brenya declared harshly in the privacy of her mind, _I suppose creatures of like mind commingle naturally._

"You swore fealty to Hector of Ostia," Zephiel rumbled, "What makes you turn your colors so easily?"

"Lycia is prey to age-worn and foolish traditions," Erik replied, "The scattered lords are like mice squabbling over the last bit of cheese. Lycia desperately needs change in its politics and government. Your Majesty is the perfect solution to both problems."

"Therefore we become a tool for fulfilling your wishes?" Zephiel asked calmly.

Brenya was delighted to see Erik cower for his life.

"Your Majesty knows I meant no offense!" Erik cried in a shrill voice, "I simply mean to give Lycia into the hands of Bern!"

Zephiel smirked, "Your offer is amusing, Erik of Laus. We, however, doubt your ability to swing the scales of war in such a radical manner. Spies have reported that the _mighty_ Laus army was shattered twenty years ago by a force of less than twenty men. Are we wrong in this regard?"

"The times have changed since then," Erik said hoarsely, "Twenty years I've spent patiently refitting and training the Laus army. Laus now has enough strength to confidently backstab the Lycian Alliance!"

"What do you stand to gain through all this?" Brenya's suspicious tone clouded her voice.

"I have… a long standing hatred of Hector of Ostia," Erik said as he recalled a few bitter memories, "Perchance King Zephidel could reward this faithful servant with dominion of Lycia?"

Narshen frowned as he barked, "Now see here, Marquess Erik! That wasn't what we agreed upon!"

_And now the daggers come out, _Brenya thought as she watched Erik avoid Narshen's gaze.

"Lycia," Zephiel said as if testing the word on the tip of his tongue, "Rest assured, the two of you. Whoever performs the greatest service for us in the coming battles will be granted Lycia."

Greed shimmered in Narshen and Erik's eyes. "Your Majesty, Lycia will be swiftly conquered by my companies!" Narshen exclaimed with a salute.

Not wishing to second his one-time conspirator, Erik leapt at the chance as well, "Laus will see Lycia safely delivered into your hands, Your Majesty!"

"Dismissed," Zephiel said despite their bravado.

"Your Majesty," Brenya said uneasily as Narshen and Erik departed, "Surely you will not leave Lycia in the hands of those two…?"

"We said whoever performs the greatest service in the war will be granted Lycia as their holdings," Zephiel said as he gazed at the priestess behind him with approval. "Be they human or dragon…"

Brenya could not suppress the shudder that ran down her spine at those implications.

_

* * *

_

Compared to the extravagance of Aquelia, Castle Bern could almost be described as Spartan in furnishings. However, what the castle lacked in luxury, it was certainly built with safety of Bern's royalty in mind. Shooting out amongst the tall mountain spires and guarded by the fierce wyvern lords of Bern, the fortress appeared to be impregnable. Bern's warriors proudly boasted that no one would be able to enter or leave the castle without detection. A boast, ironically, that was about to be proven false by the very people the warriors swore to protect.

Hunched over a small table, Xavier was dictating a message as he tried to fight the growing migraine that planted itself behind his eyes. While Zephiel was temporarily away at the war front, Xavier was charged with overseeing internal affairs until the king's return. Zephiel set great store in the advice that his tutor offered, and frequently sent dispatches filled with updated plans back to Castle Bern.

Besides having to regularly await the king's orders, Xavier now had an army of informants to work with. Owing to illness, the previous head of intelligence had literally dropped dead in the middle of work, a fate that Xavier honestly hopes to avoid. Fortunately, the spies were prudent enough to write their reports using an upraised text, hereby allowing Xavier to 'read' the reports simply by running his calloused hands over them. There was no need to reveal state secrets if the occasion could be avoided.

_So Marquess Pherae is bedridden with illness? If Marquess Pherae could be delayed a little longer, then the Pheraen cavalry will not be able to assist Araphen, _Xavier thought as motioned for the scribe to stop.

With most of Bern's legions already deployed into battle, preciously few professional soldiers could be spared for a raid of Pherae. However, the local bandits may be persuaded with the right coin… Xavier trusted that his bait would be more than sufficient to tempt the greedy brigands into launching a furious attack on a weakened Pherae.

"New orders, Dreyakis," Xavier said, "Have Damas and his cronies begin their assault. They know what is required of them."

Dreyakis had been Xavier's trusted valet for the past twenty years. Undemanding and loyal, the servant dutifully carried out his master's commands even though Dreyakis was almost as venerable as Xavier. Scribbling down Xavier's latest command, the one-armed scribe rolled up the parchment before sealing the manuscript with a wax seal.

"Is there anything else, Master Xavier?"

"No, you're dismissed for the rest of the day," Xavier replied. "My presence is requested by Princess Guinevere as a temporary replacement for her usual bodyguard.

Xavier, Zephiel's mentor, advisor and prime minister all rolled into one, emerged slowly from the study that served as his quarters. The past twenty years have not been kind to the aging teacher. Gouty, blind, silver-haired and frail, Xavier nevertheless retained his keen intellect for conquest and intrigue. Xavier had patiently cultivated Zephiel's talents for nearly twenty years before unleashing the King of Bern upon Elibe. Elibe considered Zephiel to be a wise and peaceful ruler during the early years of his reign and was consequently caught by surprise with Bern's sudden belligerency.

Using his cane as a guide to the unknown, Xavier slowly padded his way through the myriad of hallways until he came to Princess Guinevere's room. He had, after all, resided in the castle for twenty years and, despite his blindness, could navigate his way through the castle quite efficiently. As Xavier approached, a male wyvern knight standing guard before the doorway caught sight of him.

"Ah, there you are, Master Xavier," the knight greeted, "I was afraid you didn't receive the letter from the princess."

"Zeiss, is it?" Xaiver inquired, "What are you doing here? If I recall correctly, you were recently assigned to General Narshen's command?"

"You are quite right," Zeiss replied with a smile, "Miledy, however, insists that she accompanies me until I safely arrive at camp. After all, this is my first tour of duty as a knighted wyvern rider."

"You are all that remains of her family," Xavier nodded towards the doorway, "it'd be quite natural for her to be worried for your well being. However, since Miledy is not at her assigned post as the princess' guard, I gather she is currently inside apologizing for her temporary absence."

"She is doing just that," Zeiss answered as the door swung open with a small groan.

Miledy issued forth from the doorway while casting a worried look behind her. The crimson-haired guardian had been beside Princess Guinevere ever since Queen Hellene died of illness fifteen years ago. Miledy cared for the princess almost like a surrogate mother and did her best to shield the young royal from the frictional turbulence between King Desmond and Prince Zephiel. Though Miledy was a battle-hardened and skillful wyvern knight in her own right, she honestly wished for nothing more than to remain beside the princess to the end of her days. As Miledy turned around, she smiled briefly at Xavier and her brother.

"Master Xavier," Miledy said with a bow, "I apologize for bothering you during such an important time. You must be overwhelmed with plans and stratagems for the king, yet I…"

"Nonsense," Xavier said with a huff, "I fully understand and agree with your concern for young Zeiss here. Be at ease, I will watch over the princess until you return."

"Thank you," Miledy replied, "I couldn't help but worry that Zeiss would run into trouble along the way without anyone to help him."

"But sister!" Zeiss protested, "I'm never going to become a full-fledged wyvern knight in your eyes if I'm always cooped up in a cage!"

Before Miledy could respond, Xavier spoke up, "Now, now, my old ears cannot abide another sibling argument. You're already late, Zeiss, and for the sake of your military career, I'd advise you to get a move on. General Narshen is most impatient with tardy soldiers."

"Narshen," Miledy grimaced, "He's all bark and no bite. Why, if it wasn't for his infernal meddling, Gale would be…"

"…would be Dragon Lord," Zeiss said with a sigh, "We know, dear sister. We all pray for his speedy promotion just as we pray the two of you would finally tie the knot."

"That was completely inappropriate!" Miledy said with a fierce blush, "In the future, you will refrain from speak… Never mind! Zeiss! We need to leave immediately!" She marched off without another word.

Xavier chuckled softly while Zeiss heaved a sigh, "Always avoiding the problem, my dear sister is." The red-haired knight promptly took off in pursuit of his sister.

Shaking his head at their antics, Xavier turned his attention back to the princess' room. Knocking quickly on the oaken door, the advisor was admitted by a brunette priestess named Ellen. Though the St. Elimine Church flourished in Etruria and Bern alike, the military hierarchy of Bern was always considered to be far more important than priesthood. Ellen was one of the few exceptions that readily participated in the church rather than seeking an active military career. Perhaps it was due to her introspective nature and connections with the church that Ellen was assigned as Princess Guinevere's personal attendant. The two young women had immediately connected on their mutual interest in literature and learning, spending fruitful hours studying and reading in the royal libraries.

"Master Xavier?"

Xavier bowed, "Princess Guinevere."

Guinevere smiled serenely at her childhood tutor before rising elegantly from her window seat. Dressed in a flowing red dress and wearing a solid gold circlet, Guinevere wore the appearance of an angel emerging from an epic portrait. While age had drawn wrinkles and weakened Xavier, the past twenty years only served to bring out Guinevere's womanly graces and charms. Already considered one of the finest ladies in Elibe, Guinevere's high status and regal bearing would be a fine bargain for any would-be suitor.

"Master Xavier," Guinevere repeated, "how fare you this day?"

Xavier smiled slightly, "Quite well, princess. Although the candle marks seem to grow shorter every day. With Bern on the war footing, the king and I must regularly keep correspondence to plot Bern's next move."

Guinevere's smile dampened at the mention of war, "Why is my brother doing this? What does he hope to gain from this war?"

"I do not know, princess." Xavier replied, "I suppose that King Zephiel seeks what all great conqueror's wish for: a unified Elibe ruled by one king. Elibe has never been united since the nations rallied together and fought the dragons during the Scouring. King Zephiel would be hailed as the first emperor in over one thousand years!"

"War causes great suffering," Guinevere said, "thousands of innocents die by the sword every time a war breaks out. Lands are ravaged and peasants flee for their lives… Surely there can be a peaceful solution to this conquest!"

"Bern has long been preparing for this day, princess," Xavier said. "For three generations, the Kings of Bern have been patiently building up their strength and arms. They have been waiting eagerly for an opportunity to present itself, an opportunity that will make Bern the mightiest country on the face of Elibe."

"Glory, might, and fame are pointless if they are paid for with innocent lives," Guinevere protested, "Bern is already the acknowledged military power in Elibe. Why do we need to kill more people to prove this?"

Xavier frowned slightly, "Ellen, could you please bring me a cup of tea? I do believe this will be quite a debate." Blind as he was, Xavier completely missed the two women exchange a look.

"Master Xavier, I…" Guinevere began.

"Milady," Xavier held up a hand, "you are destined for something far different from the king. The Kings of Bern bow to no one save the king alone; this is how it was always done. Ambition, desire, and conquest all reside in the hearts of kings. Princess, you are a peaceful individual, naturally unsuited to war and…"

"I beg your pardon," Ellen's voice wavered slightly as she approached. "H-here you are, Master Xavier."

"Thank you, child," the master said as he tilted the cup and took a sip. "Now where was…"

Ellen nimbly secured the cup as it dropped from the advisor's nerveless hands. Xavier crumpled to the floor in a heap; his deep breathing told the conspirators that he was quite dead to the world.

"Ellen," Guinevere chided gently, "how much sleeping draught did you put in there?"

Ellen flushed with embarrassment, "Ah, perhaps a little too much. I'm not trained in the specifics of a sleeping potion, milady."

Guinevere smiled, "Be at ease, there is no harm done. Though we must make haste and depart before Xavier awakens."

Ellen timidly poked her head out the doorway, "Milady, there is no one about!"

Guinevere nodded before smiling apologetically at Xavier's prone form. "I'm so sorry, Xavier, for doing this to you. I know that you are only acting under Zephiel's orders. Even so, I cannot abide that innocent lives are being destroyed in this horrendous war. I must stop this madness, at any cost."

"Milady, please hurry!" Ellen said.

"I know," Guinevere replied as she removed a large ruby from one of her drawers. "This however, is required if peace is to be forged."

Ellen gasped, "Milady, is that…?"

"Hush, Ellen," Guinevere placed a finger to her lips.

With one last glance to make sure the coast was clear, Guinevere and Ellen quitted the chamber. Ellen slowly tugged the door closed and locked the room.

No sooner had the key been withdrawn from the hole did a pair of golden eyes snap open.

* * *

_It might have occured to you, dear reader, that Roy appears for all of one line in this prologue. Rest assured, the red-haired son of Eliwood will make his debut. Someday._

_Thank you for reading and review if you have the time!_


	2. Of Invasions and Innocents

_Author's Corner:_

_I will only say this once: I do not own Fire Emblem. _

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**Legacy of Valshannar – Chapter I**

**Of Invasions and Innocents**

A moonless night enshrouded the Sacaen plains in its unending darkness. Here and there, the bright stars poked miniscule holes in the encompassing blanket of shadows. The obsidian twilight seemed to reflect the acrimony that dwelt in the hearts of the defeated Kutolah. Yesterday, their proud stallions and docile herds roamed the rolling plains of freedom. Today, their precious homeland groaned under the yoke of suppression. Tomorrow, perhaps even the nomadic Sacaens would be forced into a life of servitude and slavery.

Similar dark and sinister thoughts assailed the mind of Dayan, the Silver Wolf of the Kutolah Clan. During a weeklong guerilla campaign, Dayan and a courageous detachment of Kutolah nomads had delayed Bern's main army from reaching Bulgar. Launching petty sneak attacks and raids day and night, Dayan's group bought the necessary time for peaceful clans to seek refuge in Bulgar. Many brave lives were lost in many near-suicidal charges to thwart Bern's offensive, comrades Dayan knew all his life falling to a hailstorm of javelins, arrows, hand axes and magic. When the Silver Wolf had led his depleted but satisfied raiders into Bulgar, he was greeted with shouts of triumph and joy. In two days, those shouts would turn into screams of terror and pain as Bern's warriors drenched the city in Sacaen blood.

Of the various clans that sought the protection of Bulgar's high walls, only the Kutolah and Djute Clans possessed large numbers of clansmen capable of fighting. Most of the clans in Bulgar were, in fact, peaceful groups content with raising their herds or engaged in meager farming. Clan Bulgar, the chief among these tribes, had inhabited the city for many generations, relying on the sound walls for defense rather than keeping with the time-honored archery and horsemanship skills passed on by Hanon. Handicapped by the lack of available warriors, there was little the besieged could do save defending the walls from Bern's onslaught.

The city of Bulgar was founded over one thousand years ago, in a time when the flames of the Scouring had not turned the Sacaen plains to ashes. Legends hold that Hanon, weary at the end of her labors, desired a haven for all her children to live in without fear. Honoring their longstanding friendship, Roland, Elimine, Barigan and Hartmut all came with their skilled craftsmen and masons to Bulgar. For three years the craftsmen toiled against the savage winds overhead and the soft prairie underfoot until, at last, a looming city wall stood proud in its sea of grass. The masonry was stern and unyielding, withstanding the tests of time and the fury of nature for one thousand years. Elimine herself blessed the foundations so that, as long as the children of Hanon remain united in their cause, Bulgar shall never fall to its enemies. A thousand years passed, and the blessings still held; no foreign foe, bandit or otherwise, had ever breached the walls of Bulgar.

_It was then that St. Elimine's words came true_, Dayan thought bitterly.

Bulgar awoke to the sounds of screaming and slaughter. In the dead of night, Bulgar's northern gate had opened without a whisper of warning. Before the sentries even knew what was happening, Bern's elite soldiers had already breached the defenses. Door after door was kicked in, the inhabitants within slain immediately. In an unprecedented moment of carelessness, the Dragon Lord Brenya had lost control of her regiment. Frustrated and stung by the repeated annoyances during their lengthy march to Bulgar, Bern's warriors would only be appeased with blood. By the time Brenya caught word of the massacre, Bern's warriors had already smashed their way into the heart of the city.

Due to geographical locations, Bern's invasion had naturally commenced from the south, hence the majority of the Kutolah and Djute nomads were deployed at the southern gate. The non-violent clans, such as the Bulgar Clan, had amassed themselves towards the northern parts of the city. When the gates opened from the north, the defenseless Sacaens had no chance of survival with their defenders deployed in the south.

In the middle of Bulgar, the rallied Kutolah made their stand. Enraged at the wanton butchering, the Kutolah charged into battle led by their chieftain's son, Rath. While Rath's nomads rained arrows upon Bern's warriors, a group of myrmidons led by Guy the Sword Saint crashed into their flanks. Shocked by the ferocity of the defenders, the invaders hesitated even further when they received Brenya's orders to withdraw. A tired but victorious Kutolah Clan raised a cry of victory before Rath marshaled the riders to drive Bern's knights from Bulgar.

The sounds of victory died away when a volley of arrows struck Rath from the saddle. Before Dayan's incredulous eyes, Djute nomads charged the Kutolah from the rear with swords drawn. Fatigued from their unprepared and lengthy battle with Bern, the Kutolah gave way before the fresh and merciless Djute. Nomad after nomad tumbled from the saddle as Djute arrows fell upon the Kutolah like a killing rain. Behind them, Bulgar's southern gate opened with a groan and more knights of Bern stampeded into Bulgar.

Recognizing disaster, Dayan was forced to gather as many of his clansmen as possible and flee Bulgar. With the Djute hounding them at every step, Dayan led his people towards the western gate. Every dozen steps or so, a brave Kutolah nomad would abandon his friend and family in a sacrificial charge against the pursuing Djute warriors. Every sacrifice bought the women and children a few more precious seconds to escape the encroaching swords. Under Dayan's orders, his granddaughter Sue galloped ahead to warn the defenders and open the gate. With the Djute swiftly gaining upon the refugees, Dayan could not risk spending precious time opening the gate personally.

By the time Dayan and his exhausted people reached the gate, they were dismayed at the sight of battle. Fortunately for the beleaguered Kutolah, the western gate was defended by Shin and his trustworthy band of nomads drawn completely from the Kutolah Clan. After a brief but vicious scuffle, Shin succeeded in driving off the Djute traitors and opened the gate for the refugees to pass. However, scarcely half the fleeing Kutolah had departed through the open gate when a horde of Bern knights and Djute horsemen arrived on the scene.

_There was no conceivable way to stop them, _Dayan thought as he recalled the abysmal number of nomads that surrounded him. _If not for Guy's sacrifice, the Kutolah Clan would've ceased to exist that night._ A throbbing bitterness beat in the breast of the Kutolah Chieftain as he recalled the last words he exchanged with the Sword Saint.

_Four times the combined Bern and Djute war party advanced, and four times the dwindling Kutolah beat them back. The ground lay cluttered with corpses of men and horses, though occasionally a wounded horse screamed in pain. In the previous attack, Guy had lopped off the head of a powerful Bern knight who carried a shield with a fancy coat of arms. From the way their enemies hesitated, Guy had apparently slain either a famous warrior or the enemy commander. Granted a brief respite, the Kutolah slackened their white-knuckled fists briefly._

_"Rally around, sons of the Kutolah," Dayan cried out. "Your womenfolk, children and aged parents flee behind you. Do we give them to the sword in order to save our own lives?"_

_"Never!" The nomads around him roared in reply._

_"It has been my honor to lead you in life," Dayan continued. "Now, my warriors, I must demand of you one last feat of loyalty and courage. Even if all of us die here, the Kutolah must survive!"_

_"Chieftain, you must not die here."_

_Dayan turned to see Guy emerge bloodied, but still clasping his curved blade in one hand. The Sword Saint of the Kutolah had fought fiercely for his people's freedom, but these were times when one man's strength simply wasn't enough._

_"Chieftain," Guy continued, "you are the Silver Wolf that the Kutolah look upon to bring strength to their arms, meat to their children, and hope for the future. You cannot die here!"_

_"Chieftain," Shin said, "Guy is correct, you must not fall here!"_

_Dayan looked towards the amassed Bern knights and Djute nomads preparing to advance again, "There is no hope for the Kutolah."_

_"You must not say that!" Guy exploded with an oath, "The Silver Wolf is a living guarantee that the Kutolah eagle will soar through the free blue skies once more! At times we may fly beneath the storms of worry and despair, but every Kutolah believes that you will lead us to a new future!"_

_The surrounding Kutolah murmured their agreement._

_"Then what do you suggest we do?" Dayan asked, "We cannot defeat this army with our current numbers."_

_"No, we cannot," Guy agreed, "but we can hold out long enough to close the gates after our people have left Bulgar."_

_Shin frowned, "Guy, the enemy will prevent us from closing the gates."_

_"Give me two men willing to die with me," Guy vowed, "and I will ensure no foe _ever _walks through this gate alive!"_

_"There will be no way out for you if the gates are closed," Dayan said._

_"In times of strife and doubt, the Silver Wolf is worth ten Sword Saints," Guy declared, "If I die, another young Kutolah myrmidon will one day replace me. There is no replacement for you, Chieftain."_

_"Father Sky bless you," Dayan said in a resigned tone._

_"And Mother Earth guide your hooves," Guy replied in the typical Sacaen parting words._

_Dayan watched as his escorts hurried to join the retreating refugees, "Is there any unfinished task you wish for me to fulfill?"_

_Guy thought for a moment before smirking slightly, "Chief, if you ever run into a lady named Priscilla, please tell her that Guy took the path of Heath."_

_The ironbound doors swung to a close, locking the Sword Saint in a ring of enemies._

Around the brooding Kutolah chieftain, the god of sorrow reaped a bountiful harvest. Few families had been spared the torture of losing a cherished loved one. Fathers lost sons, wives missed husbands, children became orphans, and a tribe turned into an outcast. Those that were fortunate enough to bear their dead with them were at least able to give them a proper burial. The Sacaen custom called for a funeral pyre, so that Father Sky can spread their ashes across the plains of Sacae, where they shall become one with their beloved homeland. The Flame of Farewell, they called it, which would tell Father Sky of a worthy death.

Unfortunately, for a clan in exile, a funeral pyre would give off smoke signals that would lead the pursuers to them. It was with heavy hearts that the Kutolah committed their dead to soil. The Sacaens held that anyone buried within Mother Earth would be eternally doomed to wander the afterlife, never hearing the voice of Father Sky bidding them hasten to heaven. Many secretly marked the location of their dead, vowing to return and lighting a proper Flame of Farewell.

"Chieftain…"

Dayan's face looked up to see Shin standing before him with a young nomad named Caln. Caln's mother was a Sacaen, but his father was an Etrurian merchant. Due to his heritage, Caln inherited a foreign look about him that allowed him easy passage through and from Bulgar. Taking after his father, Caln became a merchant that transported wares between Etruria and Sacae. Though his mother came from Kutolah, Caln's frequent dealings with multiple tribes permitted the young merchant to enter Bulgar without exciting Djute alarm. Dayan had dispatched Caln to infiltrate Bulgar in order to provide more information.

"Chieftain," Caln began, "I understand that Rath is dead, but…"

Dayan raised a hand to silence him, "Caln, make your report."

Surprised at the emotionless reply, Caln quickly recovered, "I was able to enter Bulgar safely from the east. The northern part of the city is awash in the blood of the other clans. And the damnable Djute were openly mingling with Bern's soldiers! If I wasn't occupied with my task, I'd have slit their throats from…"

"Enough," Dayan said, his eyes searching Caln's face, "What news?"

"I overheard that the general forbade the murder of any more Sacaens," Caln continued furiously, "Apparently, Master Guy managed to take with him nearly forty well-known knights of Bern or Djute nomads. The Djute were all for mounting Rath and Guy's head on pikes for all to see, but the general denied that as well. She even went as far as burning the corpses in the Sacaen way!"

Shin grunted, "Amazing that there is still honor in Bern."

"Shin," Dayan said, "is there any news of Sue?"

The nomad shook his head, "We have not found any sign of her, chieftain. She may have wandered beyond the plains."

"Find her and bring her back alive at any cost," Dayan said, "Sue is the only family that remains to me, and the last memory of my son. I mistreated my son by sending him on a fool's journey in his youth, but that shall not happen to my granddaughter!"

Shin nodded, "I hear and obey."

Dayan nodded, "You are both dismissed."

As Caln and Shin walked away, Caln couldn't help but remark, "The old man scares me, Shin. His son is dead and his granddaughter is missing, but he doesn't shed a tear for either of them! What's wrong with him?"

Shin didn't reply. _How little you know of our chieftain, Caln, _Shin glanced at the merchant-turned-spy. _The wolf shows no emotion when leading the pack. He only grieves in private, where no one can see his sorrow. His strength is limitless before the pack; his scars are revealed only in darkness. That is the way of the Silver Wolf._

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War is not solely the business of lords, but impacted the common folk as well. While nobles rolled the dice in the game of glory, it was the commoners that felt the brunt of every castle sacked and every town taken. The able-bodied men were conscripted into armies, leaving their families to cope the best they could during harvest time. The aforementioned harvest was then subject to taxes and tribute, things essential for a kingdom's war chest. When armies, friendly or hostile, pass by a village, the inhabitants bar their doors and pray that the occasional looting would be the worst mishap they run across.

During the times of conflict and struggle, bandits and faithless mercenaries also take advantage of the exhausted imperial legions. With so many professional soldiers busy fighting wars, the local towns and villages become increasingly vulnerable to bandit raids and attacks. With the exception of Bern and, to a lesser extent, Etruria, most of Elibe saw a rapid rise in the number of bandit attacks. On a good day, the bandits might attack a village, burn a few crops, and then leave out of boredom. On a bad day, lives are lost, valuables are stolen, and children are abandoned.

Yet not all hope was lost for these parentless orphans.

The Elimine Church still worked tirelessly to bring peace and comfort to the faithful. Examples of their devotion to this worthy cause can be seen by the numerous orphanages the church established to care for these wayward children. In these orphanages, children were taught to read and write, to rebuild their faith in God, and to believe in a better tomorrow. Too many of them are little boys and girls in appearance only, though they fully tasted the bitterness of adult responsibilities. The priests and bishops that run these orphanages endlessly seek methods to restore their innocent childhoods.

Near the outskirts of Araphen, a red-roofed orphanage could be seen with nearly a dozen children playing in its front yard. A green-haired youth clad in a novice's robes sat on a log near them with a book in hand. The youth occasionally looked up to ascertain that all was well before diving back into his book. Every once in a while, a young girl gathering flowers would shower the boy with her handiwork, something he would always respond to with a wide grin on his face.

"Lou! Did ya like my new wreath?"

Lou laughed as he combed the little girl's brunette hair, "Of course I did, Alicia. Why don't you make one for Father Lucius as well?"

"Okay!"

As Alicia scampered off to find more flowers, Lou chuckled lightly before turning back to the book he left on the log. Well, to be politically correct, where he thought the book supposed to be…

_Huh? I could've sworn I laid it right here! I put my favorite blue bookmark in there too… _Realization struck the young man like a hammer. Grinning, Lou turned around and called out, "Chad! I know you're here somewhere! Now give me my book back!"

The bushes to the right of Lou rustled as a young man with dirty blond hair emerged. Twigs and leaves were sticking out of his unkempt hair as Chad triumphantly held Lou's long sought book. Lou snatched the book away with a mock scowl.

"Gotcha there!" Chad crowed, "Score: Chad 2, Lou 1!"

Lou grinned impishly, "If I tell Father Lucius that you returned to stealing…"

That wiped the smile off the thief's face, "You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Tattletale," Chad said.

"Maybe," Lou admitted as he flipped open his book, "but the score would be balanced."

"Touché," Chad amended. "The score is even, until I take the lead!"

"Somehow, I doubt that's going to happen."

Chad arched an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"Father Lucius is right behind you," Lou said while tracing the text with his finger.

"Pfft," Chad scoffed, "You didn't even look up from your book!"

"You do understand, of course," Lucius said mildly, "that Lou's shout alerted me to your presence immediately."

Lou tried to stifle his giggles as he watched Chad cringe at that voice. The thief swallowed guiltily before turning around to meet their caretaker, "Father Lucius, this isn't what you think it is…"

Lucius merely smiled gently as he watched Chad fiddle with his fingers. After twenty years, the monk still retained the gentle, forgiving aura that he exuded during the Campaign of Fire. The years have drawn quite a few lines across Lucius' handsome features, but his shoulder-length blond hair still gave him a youthful appearance. Declining to ascend the ranks of the Elimine Church, Lucius chose to serve God's will by providing for orphans as a simple monk. He and Raven remained close friends over the years, though the hard-eyed mercenary frequently traveled to visit his sister in Etruria. Ironically, Lucius' mild-mannered reprimands disciplined the children far better than any beating they would have received otherwise. If the situation could be avoided, Lucius often chose not to chastise his flock. However, that made the cause of these corrections all the more shameful in the children's eyes.

"I wasn't aware that I was thinking of something," Lucius said calmly. "What have you done that would cause me to believe you been up to mischief?"

"Err… nothing?" Chad answered as he mentally kicked himself. _Good going with the lame comeback, Chad._ The thief sweated profusely, trying to think of someway to change the subject. "Uh, Father Lucius, I brought back the herbs you requested."

Lucius' eyes brightened, much to Chad's relief. "You did? Excellent! According to my friend, those herbs are quite beneficial to the crops in our garden."

"Are you speaking of Mr. Raven?" Lou piped up, the book forgotten by his side.

"Yes," Lucius nodded absently as he poured over the contents within Chad's satchel. "He is also the one teaching Chad basic swordsmanship."

Chad colored, "I wasn't aware that you knew about that too."

"Lord Raven and I have been friends before the two of you were born," Lucius said. "There are no secrets between us."

"Speaking of secrets," Chad said, "where the devil is Ray?"

At Chad's question, Lou's shoulders sagged. "You mean he hasn't contacted you either?"

"Huh? He's supposed to be here with you and Father Lucius, wasn't he?" Chad asked.

"We were hoping you could tell us where he was," Lucius said as he closed the satchel. "Ray was gone a day after you left for the local village, Chad. He only left a small note saying he's gone to further his studies in dark magic."

"So you're telling me that your brother just decided to get up and leave without consulting me?" Chad asked incredulously.

_I wasn't aware that he needed to consult you, _Lou thought, "Uh, it seems that way?"

"That insufferable, arrogant, idiotic, son of a-" Chad stopped when he heard Lucius cough. "That's the last time I bake any sweet tarts for him!"

Lou's eyebrows went up, "You brought sweet tarts?"

Suddenly recalling the brothers' addiction to sweets, Chad quickly rummaged through his cloak and tossed a small bag to Lou. _Mental note to self, _Chad thought mournfully as he watched Lou demolish the tarts, _bake and hoard food for myself next time._

"I was going to save some for Father Abram," Chad said.

"Oops," Lou looked sheepishly at the empty bag, "you should've said that earlier…"

A shrill cry of fear rang through the air, "Father Lucius!"

The three exchanged a glance. "Thomas," Lou murmured as they ran towards the disturbance.

Rounding the corner of the orphanage, Lucius led Lou and Chad towards the small garden that was planted behind the orphanage. While small in size, the plot of land provided enough food for the inhabitants of the orphanage. Everyday, Lucius and the orphans would spend several hours gardening and digging for worms. When time allowed, Lucius occasionally took his flock fishing in the river nearby. Using the worms as bait, Chad and the brothers often brought home several fat trout to supplement dinner. This orphanage verily depended on the garden to survive.

"Thomas, what's the matter?" Lucius asked the hysterical little boy.

Thomas' blue eyes darted back to Lucius as she pointed to the east, "Soldiers…!"

Lucius frowned at the incoming soldiers as he gathered Thomas into a hug. When Lucius had first encountered the boy six months ago, he had found Thomas crying over the dead bodies of his parents. Lucius found out from their neighbors that they were slain by marauding Bern soldiers who were foraging for food. Since then, Thomas developed a particular phobia when it came to armor-clad soldiers. Small wonder the sight of a group of mounted warriors would cause the five-year old to panic.

"Lou, Chad," Lucius said, "gather the children and bring them inside. Under no circumstances are you to let them out, do you hear me?"

"But Father Lucius," Lou asked as he took charge of Thomas, "why are you so worried? Surely they are just knights from the castle several miles away?"

"I fear not," Lucius replied, "they are flying the banner of Bern soldiers."

Chad and Lou sucked in a breath. "That's impossible!" Chad cried, "Castle Araphen is scarcely half a dozen miles from here! What are Bern cavaliers doing this close to a Lycian castle?"

"Come quickly, Chad," Lou said, "Father Lucius, be careful!"

The cavaliers arrived moments after Lou locked the door. Chad and Lou covertly watched from a window as the seven cavaliers made a semicircle around Lucius. One of them, a high-ranking knight based on the coat-of-arms upon his shield, lifted his visor and called out to Lucius.

"Hey, you!" The knight said, "Where have you hidden your valuables?"

Lucius spread his hands in a non-threatening gesture, "Peace be with you, my son. I am but a humble monk in charge of a run-down orphanage. What valuables could I possibly have?"

The knight grunted, "That's what the last villager told me too. He was singing another tune after I hacked off an arm, though. Jeb, Colren, search the house!"

Two knights urged their horses forward right through the garden that Lucius and the children painstakingly planted. Frowning, Lucius said, "Please, sir knights! The produce from that garden is all that we have to live on. Please desist from-"

"From what?" Jeb sneered, "Oh, you mean this?" The knight pulled on the reins, causing his horse to trample several plants under its hooves.

"Hey, Captain, look what I found!"

Lucius, Chad and Lou turned to see another knight appeared with a struggling girl tucked beneath an arm. Chad and Lou exchanged a look of horror, _We forgot to retrieve Alicia from the flowerbeds!_

"What the devil do you want with a child, Carlos?" The leader asked. "I know your tastes are rather peculiar, but you've never favored children!"

"I mean to sell her at Badon," Carlos replied as he leered at Alicia. "She's fresh and tender, perfect for their purposes. Of course, that doesn't prevent me from…"

"Put her down," Lucius said in a tone that brooked no dispute.

The knight named Carlos spat on the ground. "Who're you to give me orders, monk?"

Lucius' voice turned dangerous. "You will not harm one of my flock, sinner. I will repeat myself once. Put her down, or suffer the wrath of God."

Everyone save Alicia and Carlos was struck dumb at the rapid change in Lucius' demeanor. A moment ago, Lucius looked gentle enough to be knocked over by a feather. Now, the monk's eyes blazed with holy wrath as his hands clenched a weather-beaten prayer book. Lucius' peaceful aura evaporated like the morning mist, only to be replaced with a radiant air of power.

Carlos snorted as he threw his head back and laughed, "There is no God, foolish mo-"

The blasphemer never finished his sentence. Holy lightning materialized out of thin air to strike the knight dead on the spot. Miraculously, even though Alicia was in such a close proximity to the smoking corpse, not a single hair on her head was singed from the magical attack. The knights were shocked into silence.

Lou and Chad exchanged a look of complete bewilderment. _That's no prayer book! That's a light magic tome! Father Lucius can use magic?_

"Twenty years it has been since I last smote down heretics who dared to profane the Creator," Lucius glared at the other knights. "Leave my flock in peace and I will show you mercy."

The leader of the knights flushed in rage. Closing his visor with an audible clank, he roared to his followers, "Kill them! Kill them all!"

Before the knights could get their act together, Lucius already fried one of them with holy magic. The remaining five knights put spurs to their mounts and charged Lucius like a rolling tide of metal and flesh. Before the spears could strike, Lucius blasted another man from his horse and cooked another in his armor. However, it was impossible for him to dodge the incoming blows.

With a sickening crunch, the leader's spear punched a hole through Lucius, pinning the monk to the wall. Stopping to admire their handiwork as Lucius struggled for breath, the three surviving knights dismounted. The leader and his two fellow knights stopped a few yards before the dying monk.

"Any last words, monk?" The leader jeered as he lifted his visor.

Lucius mumbled something unintelligible as blood dripped from his lips.

"Eh, what's that? You two, go see what he was saying."

At that moment, Chad and Lou finally managed to unbar the door and leapt out. The three knights stopped to see two children staring defiantly at them.

"How fitting," one of the knights said, "the monk kills four of our mates, so let's kill four of his. Shall we?"

Taking their eyes off Lucius was a mistake they'd never be able to make again.

Calling on his last reserves, Lucius reached out and grabbed the two knights' helms. Pure holy power sprang from Lucius' fingertips into the hapless skulls of the knights. Waving his hand before the leader could respond, Lucius directed one last furious attack on the leader's unprotected face.

The knights dropped simultaneously to the floor, their carcasses still smoking from Lucius' attack.

Desperation propelling them into action, Lou and Chad sprang to Lucius' side.

"Father Lucius!" Chad cried.

"Father Lucius!" Lou said, "Hang in there, I'll bind your wound!"

"Q-Quiet," Lucius gasped, "you do not have much time. S-Soon, other soldiers from B-Bern will come. You must escape… Escape with A-Abram…"

"Father Lucius, you can't die!" Lou cried.

"God calls me to his side, my son," Lucius said, "and I must obey… Ah, L-Lord Raven will be… Be most cross with… me…"

"Father Lucius!"

Lou's cry never made it in time for Lucius to hear. The soul of Lucius, servant of the light, lingered briefly in the realms of men before ascending the stairs of heaven.

_

* * *

_

To say that Miledy was hysterical over the disappearance of Princess Guinevere would be a gross understatement. The wyvern knight stormed through the halls of Castle Bern with a permanent scowl etched onto her face.

Three days ago, Miledy had personally accompanied Zeiss to General Narshen's war camp. At the time, Brenya and Narshen were discussing strategy in the war room, so Zeiss simply reported to his unit. Thankful that she was able to avoid a confrontation with the Dragon Lord she held in contempt, Miledy promptly took off for Castle Bern. As the one who caused Gale's demotion, Narshen was probably the only Bern soldier that Miledy seriously contemplated throttling to death. Well, that was before she caught wind of Guinevere's disappearance, of course.

Somehow, Princess Guinevere, the most peaceful, docile and harmless princess on the face of Elibe, had drugged Xavier, removed the most priceless artifact in Bern, and slipped out of Castle Bern without anyone noticing. All in one candle mark. The report submitted by the guards stated that there was no sign of struggle in the room, denoting that the princess either left of her own volition or engineered the entire departure herself. Given that the residue from a sleeping potion was left in the cup Xavier drank from, Miledy was willing to put her money on the latter suggestion.

_Nevertheless, the incompetence of the guards was staggering, _Miledy thought. _Granted, the princess never attempted something similar in the past, but that is no excuse! Master Xavier is forgiven, since I can't expect a blind man to notice someone pouring a sleeping draught into his tea. But isn't every other son of a woman in this Elimine-forsaken castle blessed with two eyes?_

The king had been alerted immediately to the princess' disappearance. Within a day, Miledy received orders from King Zephiel to immediately search for Guinevere's whereabouts. The artifact Guinevere removed from the throne room was a closely guarded state secret and was never released to the public. It was depressing enough that a princess of blood was missing; the king didn't wish to compound the difficulty by informing the populace that the national treasure was gone as well. The inhabitants of Castle Bern were frantic enough already.

_Though Master Xavier is a notable exception, _Miledy thought as she collected a few items from her room. _I suppose iron nerves and a will of steel comes from being seventy years old. Then again, old age is usually accompanied by frothing by the mouth and lunacy._

As befitting the king's closest confidant, Xavier did not lose his head for an instant. He was the first to suggest informing the king of Guinevere's disappearance and organizing search parties. With all that done, Xavier closeted himself in his study and buried himself in paperwork. The old teacher had a war to win and a country to run in the king's absence, so the princess' retrieval was delegated to someone else.

_At least the wyvern knights weren't stupid, _Miledy thought as she approached the loft. When Xavier had asked for volunteers to retrieve Princess Guinevere, not a single wyvern knight twitched. Instead, they all looked towards Miledy en mass. It was a well-known fact that Miledy was second to no one in service to Princess Guinevere, and no foolish knight wished to risk a hiding for taking her task.

The loft was actually a gigantic wyvern nest. Wyverns, after all, were not the tamed horses or pegasi that cavaliers or pegasus knights rode into battle. To preserve the beast's natural ferocity, wyvern knights rode untamed wyverns into battle. In a sense, this presented a greater danger to the human knight, since the wyvern may attack the rider in its bloodlust. To rectify this, wyvern knights are required to undergo a Trial of Initiation, where they form a life-bond with their mount. The Trial of Initiation varies from wyvern to wyvern, so the actual trial can differ between trials by fire to arduous flights. If the knight passes the Trial of Initiation, the wyvern officially recognizes the human as a peer, but never a master. A bond of comradeship connects the wyvern and its knight, and the relationship is never one of servitude.

Naturally, an untamed wyvern directed by a veteran wyvern knight exhibited far more fury in battle than a cavalier mounted on a tame warhorse. Only on the plains of Sacae, where the peerless nomads mounted upon wild stallions thrive, are there warriors capable of matching the wyvern lords in battle. However, the nomads of Sacae are separated and unorganized, with riders scattered amongst multiple clans. The wyvern lords avoided this difficulty by swearing allegiance to the kings of Bern. United under one leadership, the wyvern lords of Bern became the most feared fighting force in all of Elibe.

_For the mightiest fighting force in Elibe, we sure don't set great store in hygiene. _Miledy never failed to wrinkle her nose at the smell of dry wyvern dung. The job description for guard duty evidently left out the words, "Clean the stalls."

Several wyverns that belonged to her squadron identified her scent and cawed in greeting. Hearing the disturbance, the guards stopped their game of cards and snapped to attention at the sight of Miledy walking into the loft.

One of the guards happened to be part of Miledy's squadron as well, "Captain! What brings you to the loft?"

Miledy acknowledged their salute with a nod, "Lanster, is the 21st Independent Squadron prepared to leave?"

"We're still tracking down Thomas, Captain!" Lanster replied. "I sent Mak and Devan to bring him back from the tavern. We can be airborne in half a candle mark."

"Do so," Miledy ordered, "I'll see you in the skies."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Miledy left before she could see her second-in-command salute again. Bitterness welled in her heart as Miledy walked towards Trifinne's stall. Her wyvern, sensing her partner's unease, nuzzled Miledy's face lightly. Brushing Trifinne's head, Miledy leaned her head against her wyvern as she glared at the bridle hanging on the wall.

_Why? Why did she leave without leaving me a single letter? _Miledy's thoughts raced through her mind. _Have I not proved myself trustworthy after fifteen years of service? Have I not watched over the princess as thoroughly as if she were my own daughter? Would I ever betray her secrets? _Hot tears of rage and frustration slid down Miledy's cheeks despite Trifinne's best efforts to soothe her.

Her vision blurred by tears, Miledy was startled with blue glove reached from behind her to gently wipe away her tears. The intimate gesture was repeated once more before someone spoke behind her.

"This is most unlike you, Mil," a steady and calm voice said. "You certainly were not like this when we parted two months ago."

_Blue gloves, it can't be… He's in Ilia with General Murdock, _Miledy thought numbly. "G, Ga-"

"And memory loss too," the voice chided with amusement. "Dear me, you forgot my name in less than two months? Shame, shame on you, Mil."

"Gale," Miledy relaxed as she felt a strong pair of arms encircle her waist with a hug. "By the gods, I missed you. But you were assigned to Ilia under General Murdock! How is it that…?" Miledy turned slowly in place to appraise the knight.

Two months of hard campaigning in Ilia's frozen winters might have worn down an ordinary wyvern knight, but there was nothing ordinary about Gale. Long, azure hair held back by a blue headband coupled with gray, hawkish eyes adorned his lanky, pale face. Clad in a standard wyvern knight's armor tinted in navy, Gale had made a name for himself during the Ilian Campaign as one of the greatest battlefield leaders under Murdock's command. Together with his wyvern, Ecthel, Gale was instrumental in the Battle of Edessa, where Bern smashed the last unified Ilian resistance.

"The 13th Specials Squadron was reassigned back to Bern," Gale said with a small smile. "Dragon Lord Murdock pulled a few strings so I could return for the retrieval of Princess Guinevere. I believe General Murdock and I were quite correct in assuming you'd volunteer for the task?"

Miledy could not resist the twinkling laughter in his eyes. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Miledy drew a shocked Gale into a fierce kiss, which he returned after a moment's hesitation. Ecthel and Trifinne exchanged a look of amusement at their partners' antics.

"I missed you," Miledy murmured after they broke off for want of air.

"And I you," Gale replied, "Though next time, can we choose a more, ah, private location to do that?"

Miledy blushed, "I apologize. It's just that I haven't seen you for so long."

"No harm done," Gale said, "though if I'm rewarded like that every time I leave for two months, methinks I will be applying for transfer more often."

If at all possible, Miledy's blush deepened, "Gale!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Gale laughed, "Anyways, regarding the disappearance of Princess Guinevere, a few villagers claimed to see an elegantly dressed lady and her attendant cleric heading west. Their descriptions match Princess Guinevere and Ellen perfectly."

"West?" Miledy asked, "Why would they be heading west? His Majesty is about to launch a full-scale attack on Lycia! The princess is walking straight into a war zone!"

"Her purpose is unknown," Gale admitted, "but we should be able to retrieve her before Castle Araphen is captured."

Miledy nodded, "Of course we will. We still have ten days before the siege begins. That is more than enough time to bring the princess back to the cast… What's with the look, Gale?"

Gale was chewing on his lip, a signature response that Miledy recognized as extreme nervousness. "Miledy, you weren't briefed on the Lycian situation, were you?"

"No, why?"

Gale leaned closer and whispered something into her ear.

Less than a candle mark later, two squadrons of wyverns tore through the skies of Bern in quest for the Lycian border.

Scores of miles away from Castle Bern, the Castle Brient stood guarding the mountains that bordered Lycia. Bern and Lycia, though sharing a considerable border length, were only accessible through two paths due to the Bern Mountains. The first and more popular route was Castle Araphen, while the second and lesser-known method is the winding path through the Bern Mountains underneath the watchful eyes of Castle Brient.

At the foot of the mountain range, the village Rosiar sits on the Bern side of the border. A peaceful little village, Rosiar thrives on trading and blacksmithing, as both are extremely valuable skills for a border town. Rosiar's forge is constantly in demand for anything from farm tools to weapons of war. Given its position as a border town, Rosiar frequently passed on mail or packages between Lycia and Bern before the war. Situated in a challenging environment, Rosiar's surrounding terrain was deemed too inaccessible for an army to pass by. Though Castle Brient stood imperiously over the mountain pass to Bern, its soldiers were known for visiting Rosiar's tavern for a well-earned mug of ale. All in all, Rosiar was spared from the terrors of war that threatened to engulf the rest of Elibe.

The mayor of Rosiar was a cheerful, content married man who often rented out rooms in his tavern to travelers. A few days ago, a highborn lady and her attendant passed by Rosiar during their journey to Lycia. Since they arrived at Rosiar near sunset, the mayor had graciously invited them to stay the night and continue their journey tomorrow.

Such occurrences were actually quite common during the opening days of the war. Before King Zephiel had begun his bid for conquest, Bern and Lycia had maintained close ties over the years. Many wealthy Bern or Lycian citizens had moved across the border to visit friends or family during that time. However, once war erupted between the nations of Elibe, these highborn citizens made haste to return to their native country.

"Wilfred? Wilfred, where are you?"

"I'm in the backyard," the mayor looked up from where he was whittling a wooden bowl. "Mia, my love, what is it?"

Where the mayor was cheerful and easy going, his wife was known for being a money-grubbing miser. How these two completely opposite people were married is still a hotly debated topic in Rosiar.

"Wilfred," Mia said in a hushed voice, "did you hear what the soldiers were saying?"

Wilfred raised an eyebrow, "Saying about what?"

"That Princess Guinevere is missing!" Mia exclaimed, "And doesn't their description of the princess match perfectly with our guest upstairs?"

"Don't be daft," Wilfred laughed, "why would Princess Guinevere come to Rosiar incognito?"

"Who cares?" Mia said, "Think of the golden reward we could receive by turning her in!"

Wilfred snorted, "Don't be ridiculous! What are the chances of a princess choosing a shoddy tavern like ours?"

"That's because we're the only inn around for miles?"

"True, but still highly unlikely," the mayor returned to his whittling. "She's just another wealthy lady that is returning home to Lycia. Sir Rude from Castle Brient would have our heads if we were wrong."

"But…" Mia was anxious to raise objections.

"We will speak no more on this," Wilfred said, "I must return to the bar now. See you later, my dear."

Mia glared at her husband's retreating figure. After he had entered the tavern, Mia sneered, "Spineless coward! Go and tend to your worthless drinks! I have bigger fish to fry!" She scuttled off towards Castle Brient.

A mile away from Rosiar, Ellen was praying for the success of Princess Guinevere's proposal of peace. Preferring solitude and tranquility over the hustle and bustle of Rosiar, Ellen had removed herself to a more secluded location. The devout cleric had concealed herself in a thicket, hoping that she wouldn't be disturbed while worshiping God. Kneeling on the soft grass, Ellen closed her eyes and composed herself.

"Dear God," Ellen began, "I beg thee to hear my plea. Innocent families are being drawn into a war that will bathe Elibe in blood. Please direct our path and guide our thoughts, so that the princess and I can stop this terrible…"

A dry twig behind her snapped as it was crushed underfoot.

Ellen's eyes snapped open in surprise. Turning around, Ellen found herself engaged in a staring contest with a score of ax men and swordsmen. It was hard to say who was more surprised. From the bemused look on their faces, the fighters obviously didn't expect to run into anyone in these forests.

"What the hell?" One of the ax men groaned, "Lott, didn't Thany say this area was clear?"

"It's possible that she made a mistake, Ward," one of the fighters, presumably the man named Lott, answered. "I know Thany has the eyes of a hawk, but even she can't see everything concealed in the trees."

"Damn it!" Ward cursed as he gestured at Ellen, "You there! Are you from the local village?"

_Bandits, _Ellen thought as her mouth dried in fear. _If they are going to ransack Rosiar, the princess will be in danger! But I'm powerless to stop them! They'll kill me rather than risk allowing me to raise the alarm!_

"Ward, Lott," a swordsman covered in scars elbowed his way into the clearing. "What's the matter?"

_Truly a sinister looking bandit leader, _Ellen shuddered at the sight of the newcomer. The man was crisscrossed with scars all over his muscled torso and shoulders. Over his left eye, another thinly traced line was readily apparent.

"She's the matter," Ward pointed at Ellen.

_St. Elimine, please deliver your faithful servant from this band of marauders, _Ellen prayed silently. _If it is God's will that I die here, please protect Princess Guinevere from all harm._

"Dieck," Lott said, "our rendezvous will be impossible if they're ready for us at the border. If she raises the alarm, all will be for naught."

The scarred mercenary named Dieck grimaced, "That won't do. We'll have to make sure she doesn't spoil our plans."

_That's it, I'm dead_, Ellen thought as she shut her eyes tightly.

Dieck turned to Ellen, "What's your name, miss?"

"Wha-?" Ellen's eyes popped open in surprise. _Since when do bandits ask for names before killing their victims?_

"Unless you want us to call you 'Miss Cleric" during the entire journey," Dieck looked apologetic, "I'd advise you to identify yourself."

"E, Ellen," Ellen replied, flabbergasted at the question.

"Well, Miss Ellen," Dieck said, "As you might've guessed, we're in quite a hurry at the moment. I'm sorry for your predicament, but I'm going to have to ask you to come with us to Pherae."

_

* * *

_

When Roland was crowned King of Lycia after the Scouring, all of Lycia was united under one banner. Rather than governed by a council of peers, absolute authority was vested in the Valorous Knight. Though Roland brought many revolutionary changes to the smattering of provinces called Lycia, few of his implemented changes lasted through the ages. Originally, Roland had separated Lycia into interconnected provinces and districts, each headed by a governor that was _not_ from his family. Roland had wisely reasoned that after his death, Lycia's democracy would largely collapse due to an internal power struggle. Unfortunately, despite Roland's precautions, Lycia did just that after the death of their beloved leader.

Regional governors were either swiftly displaced by Roland's heirs, or voluntarily gave up their positions. In less than a fortnight, all of Roland's efforts were undone as chaos and bitter civil war raged through Lycia. Ostia, Pherae, Laus, Araphen, Kathelet, Santaruz, Thria, Ciaran, Tania, Caelin, Tuscany, Ryerde and Worde all declared for different lords, breaking the already fragile kingdom into a series of small holdings. Thirteen family members of Roland raised their banners and summoned their vassals for battle. What ensued would be known as the War of Heirs, the bloodiest conflict in the history of Elibe fought between men.

Arguably, not every lord was fighting the battle for Roland's crown. Some provinces, such as Santaruz, Caelin, and Pherae, were content do defend their lands and titles from encroaching neighbors. Before alliances were forged between the various heirs, no single province was conquered, though every bidder for the crown knew that if he or she controlled two provinces, Lycia would fall to their might.

After five vicious years of internal strife, the end came with surprising suddenness. It was then that Pherae and Ostia first allied together, a mutual friendship that would last one thousand years. With Santaruz and Caelin neutral in the war, Pherae was the only duchy that was willing to withdraw its bid and declare for another. The combined might of Pherae and Ostia proved to be unstoppable, as none of the other lords unbent enough to withdraw their claim and form alliances. Selfishly guarding their 'right' to the throne, the lords that opposed Ostia crumbled before the Pherae-Ostia allied armies. Before long, Araphen, Kathelet, Santaruz, Tania, Caelin, and Tuscany surrendered their claim and bowed out of the race. The lords of Thria, Ciaran, Ryerde and Worde fought to the last man, but were crushed in battle, stripped of their titles and exiled from Lycia. Thria was placed as under Ostian rule, while the three others were declared to be free cities, ruled by a council of city elders. Laus, seeing the dreadful fate of its neighbors, submitted grudgingly without a fight.

After the bitter War of Heirs came to an end, the various lords were summoned by a victorious Ostia to convene at Santaruz. With the war of swords over, the war of tongues began. Though defeated, the rebellious lords refused to allow the Ostian Lord to be crowned the new king. Over the five years of strife, the lords had grown accustomed to their independence and self-rule. Due to this, they vehemently opposed vesting the same authority in Ostia as they once gave to Roland. Roland commanded undisputable respect and loyalty from his countrymen; Ostia did not.

After a series of drastic compromises, the lords agreed upon the Lycian Covenant. The Lycian League was created, establishing a council of peers with Ostia at its head. The articles of the Lycian Covenant loosely established a coalition of territories that would collectively be known as the Lycian Alliance. As members of the alliance, they swore to defend mutual interests, respect Ostian supremacy, attend a council held in Ostia every few months, and never attack another Lycian state.

Roland would have turned over in his grave if he saw how many times the last statute was violated by Laus.

A sizeable convoy was traveling along the road to Ciaran. Located near Santaruz, Ciaran is an important checkpoint for travelers traveling through Lycia. Once the seat of the fallen House Cornwell, Ciaran is now governed by a council of city elders, much like Badon, Ryerde and Worde. The shipment of foodstuffs and supplies was dispatched from Ostia for Araphen, though it wouldn't hurt for them to pick up any supplies on the way. With Lycia at war and bandits afoot, General Leygance of Ostia had dispatched a dozen armored knights and another score of swordsmen to guard the convoy.

Ananias Milrun, the knight leading the escort, had raised an eyebrow at the small amount of guards sent on this crucial mission. Granted, Lord Hector took the majority of Ostia's finest knights with him to Araphen, so the lack of manpower wasn't that surprising. Although the convoy had made decent time traveling across Lycia, they were still a good day or two's march away from Castle Araphen. Yesterday, a herald from Araphen arrived asking Ananias and his men to quicken their pace. Evidently, the supplies for the Alliance Army in Castle Araphen were stretched thin as it was. Then again, the depletion of supplies was a foreseeable event as well.

Due to the Lycian Covenant, few lords of Lycia commanded an army exceeding one hundred and fifty men. From a political point of view, controlling a large army may tempt the marquess into doing something drastic, such as attacking his neighbors. From a practical point of view, maintaining a professional army is expensive. Soldiers had to be trained, paid, equipped and fed by the resources drawn from the marquess' holdings. To cut costs, a local marquess may choose to call on the militia instead. The militia was not as efficient as soldiers, but the peasants-turned-soldiers were self-sufficient in their villages. Castle Araphen typically hosted around sixty soldiers at the maximum, yet there were nearly seven times that amount defending its walls now!

It was imperative for Lycia's survival that these supplies were delivered to Araphen, but these provisions never saw the castle gate.

Erik, Marquess of Laus, stood concealed in a forest with two score Laus cavaliers at his back. Under the pretext of aiding Araphen's defense, Erik led sixty men unchallenged along the road to Araphen. Twenty he sent ahead in order to keep the impression that Laus forces were bound for Araphen. The remainder Erik kept with him to spring his little ambush. His spies managed to obtain the precise route that the caravan was taking, and Erik would ensure that not a single wagon entered Araphen territory. Without supplies and reinforcements, the Alliance Army would stand no chance against Bern's attack. However, one potentially dangerous element may throw all of his planning into disarray: Roy, son of Eliwood, was leading a troop of knights back to Pherae.

The Pheraen knights, known collectively as the Order of the Talon, are widely accepted as the greatest mounted division in Elibe. If Ostia was famous for armor knights, Ilia for Pegasus knights, Bern for wyvern riders, then Pherae was famous for its cavalry. Since the War of Heirs one thousand years ago, Pheraen knights remained peerless in horsemanship, fighting skills, and knighthood. Emphasizing quality over quantity, the valiant knights of Pherae rarely deployed more than four dozen men into battle. They rarely required any more. It was said that the thundering charge of Pheraen knights could sow dismay into the hearts of even the most stalwart soldiers.

Erik well remembered the last time Pherae and Laus clashed twenty years ago. Though he had spent considerable time and resources in rebuilding the Laus cavalry, Erik held no delusions that Laus cavaliers could match their Pheraen counterparts man-to-man. However, there were other ways to deal with Pherae rather than risking open combat. The alternative rested in the short, obese man named Paltier to Erik's left.

How Paltier, a man who weighed at least twenty stone, became the top spy in Laus would be a secret that Erik would never know. Though awkward and rather conspicuous in crowds, Paltier had a knack of obtaining information that other spies considered too risky to attempt. An excellent fabricator and copier of documents, Paltier had come into Laus' service during the reign of Erik's father, Marquess Darin. Paltier had started his career as a gimpy little clerk, but owing to his insatiable appetite for delicacies and women, he transformed himself into something far from the word 'little.' Nevertheless, Paltier was efficient, if somewhat lacking in loyalty, so Darin and Erik both kept him.

_Efficient did not guarantee complete accuracy, _Erik thought. _If he fails me this time, I swear I will gut him no matter how many times he's proven successful in the past._

"Are you absolutely certain," said Erik, "that the Pheraen cavalry is still on the road to Ciaran?"

"Reasonably so, milord," Paltier replied silkily. "Several of my informants sighted Roy of Pherae last night at the border of Santaruz. No doubt the young noble was more than willing to receive the gracious hospitality of Marquess Rhesus' young wife."

"Reasonably? Cease your slobbering, fool!" Erik backhanded Paltier with a mailed gauntlet. "That impudent pup is the son of Eliwood! Eliwood, the so-called greatest knight in Lycia! If the son anywhere resembles the father, Roy of Pherae will not waste a single moment dallying on the road! This plan will collapse if Pherae marches up the road with Ostia!"

"M-milord, I beg your pardon!" Paltier scrambled to his feet, rubbing his jaw from Erik's blow. "I may have failed to pinpoint Pherae's position, but I _can_ tell you that the Ostian group is marching directly into your trap. I have men ready to signal you if anything out of ordinary happens!"

"Where are they now?" Erik barked.

"Coming up the road," Paltier said, "Ostia will be in sight any moment now."

"In that case," Erik pondered for a moment, "are you all ready?"

Behind him, two score Laus cavaliers were buckling on their armor. Unlike the normal brown plate mail that Laus soldiers typically wore, the knights were struggling into a colored chain mail. Setting aside the traditional shield with the Laus Bull painted on it, the knights mounted with only their swords and lances.

Paltier tapped Erik's shoulder, "Marquess Erik, the lookout just brought word. Ostia has arrived. The necessary measures have been taken to ensure that no one will witness this meeting…"

"What are their numbers?"

"As Leygance promised," Paltier said, "some three dozen escorts, but only a third of them are armored knights. Their squad leader was assigned to his position less than a week ago."

"Very well," Erik said, closing his visor. "Remember your orders and leave the talking to me!"

On the beaten path, Ananias signaled the caravan to halt as several dozen cavaliers broke cover. Their level of organization clearly identified them as knights belonging to some Lycian state, but none of them carried a shield with a recognizable emblem. When the cavaliers were roughly thirty yards away, the escorts relaxed after identifying the unique blue armor that only Pheraen knights wore.

The caravan drivers heaved a sigh of relief. "Whew, and I was worried that some band of Bern cavaliers had arrived!"

"Yeah, with Pherae coming with us," one of Ananias' fellow knights said, "even those bastards from Bern will think twice!"

Ananias inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Since Lord Hector had largely depleted the standing company of armored knights, Ostia was forced to look elsewhere for troops. That was why a junior knight such as Ananias was promoted so quickly to the rank of squad leader. Ambitious, proud, and vain, Ananias daydreamed about a glorious career where he would be recognized as a noble peer. Initially, he had been proud to protect the life-giving supplies bound for Araphen, but that joy was significantly dampened when he was joined by a score of mercenaries.

_Mercenaries, _Ananias sneered, _mercenaries have no place in Ostia! If it weren't for Moydran and his band, I'd have all the glory to myself! With the knights of Pherae here, I now have a reasonable excuse to dismiss these curs. If the leader of these knights recognizes my potential and ability, he may put in a good word for me with Lord Hector!_

Moydran was a lean, serious man with a mess of red hair that numbered in his forties. One of the leaders of this mercenary group, Moydran outclassed everyone, including Ananias, in terms of skill and experience. To add insult to injury, even the knights under Ananias' command praised the quiet, brooding man's abilities. It irked Ananias to no end that Ostian knights were mingling with those of an inferior rank.

"Hey, Moydran," Ananias said haughtily, "gather your boys and assemble them here!"

Moydran shrugged at that before whistling to the other mercenaries. Ananias raised his visor as he called out, "Form up! Prepare to meet the knights of Pherae!"

The cavaliers drew to a halt a few yards before the Ostian escort. The lead cavalier approached without dismounting.

"Are you guarding the convoy bound for Araphen?" The knight asked.

"Yes," Ananias answered, "and you are?"

"I am Marcus of Pherae," the knight answered, "we have ridden from Araphen to assist you in your duties."

Moydran raised an eyebrow while Ananias gaped at the name.

"Marcus?" Ananias said, "Not the famous knight of Pherae who has no equal in knighthood?"

"Now, now, enough of that," the knight replied mildly. "I receive enough fawning over at home, and you would do well to know that flattery will get you nowhere."

Stunned at the reprimand, Ananias reddened in embarrassment. "I apologize. I was out of line, Sir Marcus."

"I'll overlook that," the knight said. "Now tell me, is this the entire escort?"

"Yes it is, but why does that matter?" Ananias was confused by the question.

"Nothing particularly important, but it will facilitate my task of delivering Lord Hector's new orders. As per Lord Hector's commands, you and your squad are now relieved of their duties."

Shocked at the casual dismissal, Ananias could only babble. "Dismissed? But, but, what do I do then? What happens to me?"

"Well, that is quite simple as well. Your new mission, whether you to choose to accept it or not, is to die in a messy spray of blood. At them, lads!"

Caught completely by surprise, pandemonium raged as the cavaliers suddenly attacked the convoy, intent on slaying every member of the escort. Outnumbered and outclassed, the mercenaries, merchants and knights had no way of countering the riders. Screams of death filled the air as the victims were butchered by the merciless horsemen. The merchants that tried to flee were run down and speared through like pigs. Within half a candle mark, only a handful of the mercenaries and Ananias were still alive, the rest were underfoot. Ananias, admittedly, was only alive because he was blubbering like a child behind his men as they were cut down. When the cavaliers encircled them in a ring of swords and lances, half a dozen mercenaries drew themselves together for one last stand. As the pitiless ambushers moved in for the kill, Ananias keeled over in a dead faint.

"Miserable coward," one of the mercenaries spat at Ananias' prone form, "acting all high and mighty as if he were a noble of some sort. Must've been the first time he's seen blood since he was born!"

"Moydran," another mercenary whispered, "we'll unhorse that son of a bastard over there. You take his horse and get the hell outta here!"

Moydran glanced sharply at the man, "What?"

The mercenary grinned, "Captain, we don't stand an icicle's chance in hell for avenging our mates, but you do. That's what you're gonna do after you make it outta here, 'kay?"

Before the cavaliers could mount their attack, the remaining mercenaries save Moydran threw themselves at the enemy leader. Unprepared for the suicidal rush, the cavaliers were slow to respond. By the time they slew three of the determined quintet, the other two had knocked Marcus off his horse. Quick as a flash, Moydran darted through the crowd of horseflesh and steel, mounting the stallion in one fluid motion.

It was then the leader's lackeys spoke for the first time. "Marquess Erik!"

Moydran's eyes widened as he half turned in the saddle. Sure enough, his eyes caught the face of the Lord of Laus rather than Marcus of Pherae's white beard.

Erik had lost his war helm in his fall from the horse. Raising his head, Erik's mind froze when he realized one of the mercenaries had procured his horse.

"Stop that man!" Erik screamed as he pointed at Moydran.

Moydran's last comrade slashed furiously at the cavaliers around him. "Get outta here, Captain!" He screamed seconds before the charging tide rode him down.

Gritting his teeth, Moydran dug heels into the flanks of his horse. With a neigh, the stallion sprang away from the melee.

Erik screamed in rage, "Damn it all! Hophni, take half the men and hunt down that mercenary! Ichabod, take a torch and burn all the supplies, leave nothing behind!"

"Marquess Erik," Ichabod bowed, "what is to be done with the Ostian knight?" He pointed at the unconscious Ananias.

Erik sneered, "Leave him alive. After all, someone has to bring word that the precious supplies bound for Araphen were burned by the treacherous Pheraen knights, right?"

Laughing maniacally, the Marquess of Laus took a horse that belonged to the convoy and departed. Moments later, his retainers followed him, leaving a smoldering blaze that could be seen for miles.

Half a candle mark later, Ananias roused from his rest by extreme discomfort. Regaining consciousness, Ananias found to his everlasting mortification that he had urinated on himself in fear during the struggle. Near him, the conflagration was still burning merrily. Some of the flying sparks even set the corpses alight, spreading the smell of burning flesh around the area.

_I'm ruined, _Ananias thought hazily, _my dreams, my ambitions, my future… All gone, gone because those Elimine-forsaken Pheraen bastards. I can't return like this! How can I explain to General Leygance that the invincible knights of Ostia were squished like pancakes by Pheraen knights? I would be condemned forever as the one who proclaimed Ostia's inferiority to Pherae!_

"Stupid, stupid mercenaries!" Ananias screamed as he kicked one of the burning corpses in anger, "If only you were competent enough! Why couldn't you protect the convoy and safeguard my promotion in the process?"

_Wait a minute, _something in Ananias' tormented mind clicked, _these mercenaries are perfect! Grubby, immoral, and greedy sell swords betrayed Ostia by siding with Pherae! I, the great Ananias, led my men in a furious defense of the convoy, but was defeated on account of Moydran's treachery! They switched sides upon seeing Ostia's numerical disadvantage and aided in the destruction of the caravan! I'll say that I was knocked unconscious in the melee, and the treacherous hounds never noticed that I was still alive!_

Ananias, armor knight-extraordinaire, trudged on foot in the direction of Ostia. Every step of the way, he was concocting a web of lies that he hoped would not only protect his reputation, but earn him a promotion as well.

_Foolish knights, you made a grievous mistake in letting me live. I, Ananias, will return one day to hunt you down like the dogs you are!_

_

* * *

_

Pherae lay situated between the rolling hills of Santaruz and the towering mountains of Bern. Though widely respected for its competent military arm, Pherae was largely ridiculed for its sparse and 'worthless' landscape. In comparison to the rest of Elibe, Pherae remained largely uncultivated and wild except for the farmlands that belonged to the plentiful villages. While the majority of the Lycian states thrived off of trading and animal husbandry, Pherae's remote location made heavy trading impossible. Nor did Pherae possess natural resources of other backwater cities, such as the gold mines of Thria, the silver mines of Santaruz, and ore deposits near Tania. Instead, Pherae was forced to rely upon bountiful harvests to feed its citizens. Due to this, many lords in Lycia snidely referred to Pherae as the "Peasant State," though these unkind words were never voiced within hearing of Pheraen knights.

The cultivated lands of Pherae largely consist of the precious farmland that every citizen in Pherae depends upon for survival. Tilled diligently by the peasants and farmers from the various villages throughout Pherae, the soil produced enough crops to satisfy the annual food necessities. However, the seasons could vary from year to year, so citizens of Pherae look to other ways of supplementing their diet. To survive, both men and women practiced swordsmanship or archery, both proving to be important skills when hunting the plentiful wild game in Pherae. It was wholly common to send a few hunters every couple weeks or so to bring back a side of venison for the village feast. Rather than jealously hoarding the noble's right to hunt _royal_ game, the ruling marquess of Pherae frequently relaxed the archaic traditions and encouraged his people to hone their skills on the hunt.

Not counting the marquess' castle guards, Pherae's military numbered roughly one hundred mounted knights, though only half of them were on duty at any moment. Pherae's mounted force was split into two rotations of men; while one half was serving as soldiers, the other half were working the fields. Rotating every six months, this system allowed Pherae access to a fresh contingent of military men instead of an exhausted corps that serves year round. With a citizenry proficient in weapons work, the lords of Pherae unintentionally created a trained militia that could be summoned at a moment's notice. This also made the outlying villages less susceptible anything less than organized raids from large bandit groups.

A man in his mid-thirties walked towards the gates leading to the Pheraen village of Tobiah. Two villagers were directing a horse-drawn wagon of hay out of Tobiah. Upon recognizing the man, they greeted him with a wave.

"You certainly took your time on your way to the castle, Wil! Rebecca was about to send out Wolt to look for you if you didn't show up today!"

Wil laughed as he hefted the knapsack over his shoulder, "Pfft! I was only away from Tobiah for less than one day! I'd like to see you go to Castle Pherae and return in one morning!"

"Is that with a horse or without one?" The villagers and Wil shared a laugh.

Twenty steps later, Wil stopped in front of his house to find a pegasus staring him in the eye. Wil sighed, shaking his head as he brushed the pegasus' mane.

"St. Elimine spare me! Murphy, do you really hate your stall that much?"

The pegasus looked at Wil as if to say, _If you were to be shackled inside a stall with no room to spread your wings, how'd you feel?_

"So long as you didn't tear another hole through the barn's roof," Wil mock scowled. "Last time you did that, it took Wolt and I three days to patch it up. I swear that if I find one more hole in the roof, you won't get any carrots for a week!"

Chuckling inwardly at the horrified look in Murphy's eyes, Wil walked towards the house. Opening the door and dropping the knapsack to the ground, Wil called out. "I'm home!"

Wolt quickly popped out of the kitchen, "Hello, Pa!"

The tall, lanky archer was the spitting image of his father except for Wolt's pale blond hair. What caught Wil's attention, however, was the panicky expression on his son's face.

"Alright, spit it out, young man," Wil scolded with mock severity, "what did you do now?"

"I didn't do anything!" Wolt said as he chanced a glance over his shoulder, "It's just that Ma and Auntie Farina are still debating over Auntie's cooking. Truth be told, that wasn't much of a problem until Auntie decided to settle matter by having me taste it!"

Father and son shuddered at the thought of Farina's cooking.

After the defeat of Nergal, Farina and Dart had parted ways with Rebecca and Wil at Badon. Promising the engaged couple to visit them in Tobiah, Dart and Farina had departed to find the lost treasure of the Pirate King. Early in their search, Dart took a grievous wound while protecting Fargus and was forced to abandon the quest. Opting to recuperate at Tobiah, Dart and Farina made good their promise to see the newly-wedded Wil and Rebecca. However, Dart's roving ways came to an end when he held baby Wolt in his hands. Declaring that the "wee little babe would be heartbroken to see his Uncle Dart leave him," Dart settled down and took up farming, much to the joy of his family. Farina stayed as well, claiming that she was only staying until Dart coughed up the treasure map. The glances she directed at the oblivious Dart, however, told Rebecca there was more than meets the eye.

"Ha," Rebecca had told Wil when he mentioned Farina's possible departure. "I'll bet my bow that she'll be here long after receiving that treasure map."

Wil was more than happy to see the two adventurers settle down, so long as Farina never went within ten feet of the kitchen.

The first time Farina allowed them the luxury of tasting her specialty, Wil and Wolt were nearly suffocated by the horrific smell and literally turned green when they saw Farina's definition of 'specialty.' Needless to say, both of them fled before subjecting themselves to cruel and unusual punishment.

While father and son were remembering their last encounter with death, Farina and Rebecca came out of the kitchen. Rebecca remained largely unchanged over the years, though childbirth had added a few inches to her waistline. Allowing her hair to fall unbraided to her waist, Rebecca stifled the chuckles at the expressions of her husband and son. Farina no longer dressed in the armor of a mercenary, choosing to garb herself like any other female villager. The women's eyes danced with mischief as they approached Wil and Wolt.

"Wil, glad to see you home so quickly," said Rebecca.

Wil smiled, "I'm glad to be back." His fearful gaze did not leave the kitchen.

Farina huffed, putting her hands on her waist, "I'm offended! Is my cooking that disagreeable with you two?"

"Err…" _Do we really have to answer that? _Wolt was edging towards the door, but was stopped when someone else came into the house.

"Did someone say cooking?" Dart's voice boomed in the doorway.

_Saved by the bell, _Wil and Wolt let out a sigh of relief. Farina brightened at the sight of the pirate-turned-farmer while Rebecca smiled. "Why are you back so soon from the fields, Dan?"

"Ole Duncan told me that Wil returned while I was out," Dart said, no longer trying to stop Rebecca from using his original name. "So I'm here to see the whippersnapper doesn't shirk from his 'duties.'"

"Hey, you're supposed to be on our side here!" Wolt shouted.

"I ate your portion last time too, remember?" Dart said, "So the least you can do is at least clean your plate. Though I don't know why you didn't believe me when I said the grub was just fine."

"Ha, at least someone acknowledges my genius!" Farina said triumphantly.

"Come on, you young scamp," Dart had Wolt in a headlock, "to the dining room with me!"

"Can I beg for mercy?"

With Farina, Wolt and Dart headed for the kitchen, Rebecca stopped Wil with a questioning look in her eyes. The cheer seemed to evaporate from the room as Wil's shoulders sagged for an instant. Rebecca drew her husband into a hug before asking Wil how the trip went.

"How fares Lord Eliwood?"

"Terrible," Wil admitted, "I managed to meet him yesterday evening before supper. He met me in his study, Rebecca! Since when does Lord Eliwood see _anyone_ outside the throne room?"

"Well," Rebecca said, "we are his long-time vassals. Perhaps Lord Eliwood relaxed the rules for your sake?"

"You wouldn't think that way if you saw Lord Eliwood's face," Wil shook his head. "His face was completely pale, eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, and even his hands trembled slightly. I think he was simply too tired to move my audience back to the throne room. The illness has been far worse than we assumed."

"Did you see anyone else at Castle Pherae?"

"Yes, I talked briefly with Sir Harken and Lady Isadora, who still serve as Lord Eliwood's chief guards. Sir Marcus and Master Roy have not returned from Ostia yet."

"Roy," Rebecca had a faraway look in her eyes, "I still remember the day Lord Eliwood asked me to be his nurse. He and Wolt were great friends; two playmates that terrorized the castle like no children had ever done before."

"You'll see Master Roy soon," Wil said as he gathered his wife into a hug, "I hear that he is due back any day… Wait, what's that?"

Wil and Rebecca both focused on the clamor of the village bell.

Rebecca frowned, "What could Father be thinking, ringing the bell like that? There's no festival today, so the only reason could be…" She sucked in a breath in realization.

"Bandits," Wil finished grimly for his wife, "call Dan and Wolt! Tell them I'll meet them at the village gates!"

Yanking open the drawstring of his knapsack, Wil drew out his trusty longbow and a quiver of arrows. Slinging the quiver over a shoulder, Wil kissed Rebecca on the cheek before leaving the house.

"Be careful!" Rebecca called out before turning to rouse Wolt and Dart from the kitchen.

Arriving at Tobiah's gates, Wil was relieved to find nearly a dozen villagers armed with bows and hatchets. The other villagers appeared to be extremely nervous, though Wil could easily understand why. Since returning to his hometown with Rebecca twenty years ago, Wil had _never_ encountered a single bandit raid in Pherae. The Order of the Talon regularly patrolled the countryside, eradicating bandit nests before any problems could arise. Despite the fact that a large number of Pheraen knights had departed to retrieve Master Roy, a bandit attack in broad daylight typically meant one of two things: the bandits were either incredibly stupid or assured of their success. From Wil's experience dealing with brigands, he'd lay his money on the former but not discount the possibility of the latter.

"Wil!"

"Mayor?" Wil was surprised to find Rebecca's father at the gate, "What are you doing here?"

"I was helping parents locate their children," the mayor replied as Dart and Wolt arrived, "Wil, what do you think the bandits are doing over there?"

Wil peered out the village gates to see twenty odd bandits gathering two hundred yards away from the village. The brigands were carrying a variety of axes and hammers, though they made no visible effort to attack. Instead, they appear to be waiting for something.

"I have no idea," Wil said, scratching his head, "but let's close the village gates first. No sense in leaving the door wide open for bandits to waltz in."

The villagers chorused their agreement to Wil's idea. Willing hands quickly pulled the stout, oaken doors to a close. Pheraen village gates were built much like castle gates, albeit made of wood rather than steel. To prevent a battering ram from easily forcing an entryway, the village gates were made to swing _outward_ rather than inward. Once the gates were closed, archers could climb up several stairways to rain arrows upon any besiegers.

Wolt, Wil, and Dart were climbing up the stairs when they heard a series of heavy pounding noises outside the village gate. Fearing the worst, they scrambled atop the wooden palisades only to find half a dozen hammer-wielding bandits scramble away from Tobiah to join their brethren.

Wil was confused, "Where did those bandits come from?"

"They were probably hiding along the palisades," Wolt answered, "probably to ambush us if we left the village to give battle?"

"Since when do villagers leave their homes behind to fight bandits?" Wil asked.

Dart, however, was a seasoned brawler who has participated in all sorts of battles in the past. Frowning slightly, he called out to the villagers below. "Hey, mayor, try to open the gates!"

"Open the gates?" The mayor asked, "What for? Wouldn't that let the bandits inside?"

"Don't open them all the way!" Dart shouted back, "I said just _try_ to open the gate!"

Bemused, the villagers strained and heaved against the wooden gates, but it refused to budge. "It won't move!"

"Are the hinges rusty?" One of the villagers asked.

"Impossible," another declared, "we closed this thing with remarkable ease a few minutes ago!"

"Not counting that I oiled the hinges not two days ago," the mayor said.

"What's going on?" Wolt asked Dart as the pirate clenched his teeth.

"They've locked us in," Dart said tensely, "the hammer bros locked our gates for us by sliding a wedge underneath and hammering them in place."

Wolt still didn't get it, "Why would they want to do that? They can't starve us out! Look over there," the archer pointed to the departing bandits leaving a trail of dust in their wake. "They're leaving already!"

Wil was suddenly struck by a horrible thought, "By St.Elimine, they can't possibly be going for…"

"Pa," Wolt said, "what are you talking about?"

"Which village is closest to the castle?" Wil asked.

Wolt frowned, "Pa, you know as well as I do that the closest one is Tobiah. Wait a minute…"

"The bandits were not going to attack Tobiah at all," Wil guessed, "they were only here to make sure we didn't budge from our position! The real prize is Castle Pherae! With Sir Marcus and the majority of the knights away with Master Roy, the castle will only be held by a token force!"

Dart grimaced, "Don't just stand there! Let's get this bloody gate unbarred, you lazy landlubbers! We don't have a second to waste!"

In their haste, the residents of Tobiah never noticed the second dust cloud that was rapidly moving through the forests.

_

* * *

_

Castle Pherae was erected on a plateau that spanned over the rolling hills of Pherae's countryside. The castle was designed in the customary Pheraen fashion, strong and durable but without any luxury or extravagance. Though not quite as well known as the castles in Ostia or Bern, Pherae nevertheless endured through the ages. Throughout the generations, the castle provided the lords of Pherae with a defensible throne where they could hear the wants of their people.

However, today the castle was eerily quiet. Instead of the normal, rambunctious crowds that came to pay respects to the marquess, the halls were void of people. The usually vibrant guards seemed to slouch at their posts, though a stern look from Harken or Isadora quickly fixed that problem. The Falcon Pendant of Pherae slumping at half mast summed up the atmosphere quite nicely.

Everyone in Pherae was aware that Marquess Eliwood was ill several weeks ago. Then some nameless gossipmonger claimed Marquess Eliwood was dying. In less than a fortnight, that rumor spread like wildfire among Pherae's citizens. Ever since their lord was confined to bed three days ago, Pheraens have become increasingly edgy and nervous. Eliwood, one of the most benevolent lords in the history of Pherae, was only in his mid-forties and was expected to last another ten years at least. All of Pherae prayed to the gods that their kind marquess would grace them with his presence as long as possible.

Isadora and Harken stood guard outside Eliwood's bedchamber. Happily married after the Campaign of Fire, both Isadora and Harken remained in the service of House Pherae. Age barely seemed to touch Isadora compared to Harken. Whereas Isadora still retained her grace and beauty, Harken's hair was rapidly graying with care lines crisscrossing his face. His joints suffering from too many old wounds, even walking proved to be painful for Harken. Despite Isadora's protests, Harken held stubbornly to his post, believing that every stab of pain he felt washed away a small portion of his failure to Lord Elbert, the previous Marquess Pherae.

The sound of shoes clapping against the cold marble floor reached Isadora and Harken's ears. Turning slightly, Isadora saw a young girl with streaming blue hair round the corner with a glass vial in hand. A red hair band threaded through her hair and clad in crimson clothes, Lilina's walking speed was bordering on running.

Recalling her lessons from Lady Eleanora, Isadora smiled before speaking. "Lady Lilina, a lady should not be seen running about the castle hallways."

Lilina flushed with embarrassment, "I… I apologize. It's just that I lost track of the time and forgot to bring Lord Eliwood's medication…"

"No harm done. Though he must take it, I'm sure Lord Eliwood detests the vile taste," Harken said with a grin.

"'Losing track of time?'" Isadora teased, "You were always a responsible girl, Lady Lilina. What could possibly capture your attention so fully?"

Lilina clutched the vial tightly, "I was, uh, engrossed in reading Lords and Ladies: Famous Romances of Elibe…"

"Uh, Lady Lilina," Harken raised an eyebrow, "you do recall that Castle Pherae only has one copy of that book located in Master Roy's room, right? If I remember correctly, you were the one that gave it to him for a present."

Lilina's face was pale for one second before turning into an even darker hue of red than before. "I… I, uh, must be going now! I'm already late to see Lord Eliwood!" Lilina stammered, quickly entering the room before Isadora or Harken could say anything further.

When the door slammed, Harken chuckled lightly as Isadora chided her husband. "Harken! Lady Lilina is the daughter of Lord Hector! You're not supposed to embarrass her like that!"

"Embarrass?" Harken composed himself, "It's a fact that during her stay here, with the exception of meals or meetings with Lord Eliwood, Lady Lilina spends the majority of her time within a ten feet radius of Master Roy's room. I know they were childhood friends, but this is…" Harken chuckled again.

"She's absolutely infatuated with him," Isadora agreed, "but mark my words, when Master Roy returns, poor Lilina will be too shy to confess her feelings. And unfortunately for the poor girl, she will only receive an answer to her unrequited feelings by being blunt!"

"Unrequited? What makes you say that?" Harken asked.

Isadora frowned, "Please, Harken, just look at the past events. Remember the proposal of uniting Ostia and Etruria with a marriage several years ago by matching Lady Lilina with some arrogant young noble? When Master Roy caught word of it, he didn't even react to the situation! If Lord Hector did balk at the marriage, I believe Master Roy would be content to let the marriage slide?"

"Let the marriage slide, maybe. Be content while doing so, never."

Isadora turned a startled glance at Harken, "What makes you say that?"

"You weren't responsible for Master Roy's swordsmanship training, Isadora," Harken said as he looked at his wife. "Whenever Lady Lilina was around, Master Roy would try ten times harder, even to the point of self-injury. No, I believe the attraction is mutual, but something is holding Master Roy back."

"Holding him back? Master Roy has always been a tenacious and obstinate boy that tends to act first rather than thinking it through. What could possibly make him hold back?"

"I don't know, Isadora, I don't know."

Shutting the door behind her, Lilina tried to slow her racing pulse and conjure the color from her cheeks. Roy's absence in Castle Pherae did nothing but compound her heartache. Nothing fueled the flames of love more than separation, and having the object of your attraction just out of your reach was simply unbearable. Though Roy's clean scent lingered in the confines of his room, they were paltry substitutes for the young lord himself.

"L-Lilina… Have I become so frightening that you longer wish to see me? Come here child…" Eliwood's voice was laced with amusement.

Shaking her head rapidly to clear her thoughts of Roy, Lilina hurried over to Eliwood's bedside. Uncorking the vial, Lilina quickly poured a glass of the pale red liquid and offered the chalice to the sick marquess.

Raising himself slowly, Eliwood made a face before downing the contents of the glass in one gulp. Grimacing slightly from the sour aftertaste, Eliwood handed the cup back to Lilina before falling back against the headrest.

"I do believe…" Eliwood said slowly, "those doctors derive sadistic pleasure from concocting such unpleasant remedies."

Lilina giggled, "But Uncle Eliwood, it's these distasteful herbal drinks that will cure you of your malady!"

"That doesn't stop those miserable physicians from trying to flavor these blasted drinks so they don't gag their patients," Eliwood growled.

Lilina giggled again, "Uncle Eliwood, you sound exactly like Roy when he had to take his medicine!"

"That would be like him," Eliwood said with a smile, "I remember trying to force a spoonful of cold medicine down his throat. After nearly a candle mark of fierce struggling, Roy finally accepted one mouthful of the fluid before spraying the contents all over the table."

Lilina laughed again, though her heart panged at the mention of Roy's name. _Great work, Lilina,_ she berated herself; _you were the one that first started speaking about Roy. _The princess of Ostia quickly looked around for something to change the subject. Lilina's eyes fell upon a large painting covered in a black canvas that hung near the foot of Eliwood's bed.

Following her line of sight, Eliwood sighed, "Lilina, you always stare at that painting every time you visit me. If it will satiate your curiosity, remove the black veil and gaze upon it."

Mortified, Lilina hastily apologized, "I'm sorry, Uncle Eliwood, I didn't mean to offend…"

"Nonsense," Eliwood said with a smile, "I typically do not allow anyone to view the painting, but since you're the daughter of my good friend Hector, I'm willing to make an exception. Go ahead, child."

Soliciting one last look of approval from Eliwood, Lilina hesitantly approached the painting. After a few hard jerks, Lilina successfully pulled the dark canvas from obscuring the painting's contents. It turned out that it was a painting of the most exotically beautiful woman Lilina had ever seen.

"This is…" Lilina's eyes widened at the portrait. From the loving red eyes to the unique teal-colored hair, from the graceful dancer's figure to the poise of a queen, the woman in the portrait seemed to be perfect in every manner. "Is… is she real?"

Eliwood laughed, "I will take that as a serious compliment. Yes, Lilina, she was a real person. There never was, and never will be, a more beautiful, compassionate, loving woman in the entire world. She is Roy's mother, Ninian."

_Roy's mother, _Lilina thought, _I heard she passed away ten years ago, when Roy was only five._ "I'm sorry, Uncle Eliwood. I must have brought up quite a few memories."

"What are memories good for if not for sharing once in a while?" Eliwood asked, "Her health was always a little frail, I'm afraid, she simply could not adapt the fluctuations in this world."

_What is he talking about? _Lilina wondered, "Uncle Eliwood…?"

Further conversation was impossible since a hard knock sounded on the door. "Lord Eliwood?" Isadora's muffled voice drifted through the thick oaken door.

"Come in, Isadora," Eliwood said. After the knight entered, he asked, "Well, what is the matter?"

"We're under attack, Lord Eliwood," Isadora said with finality, "they appear to be a large bandit group from the Bern Mountains."

"Hmph," Eliwood frowned, "do they believe this castle is easy pickings without Marcus and his knights? What's the situation?"

"We've already barred the gates with several archers shooting at the besiegers," Isadora reported. "As of the moment, we can fend them off despite their battering ram. However, if the gate is breeched, we will be hard pressed to defend ourselves."

"Aren't Sir Bors and his knights available too?" Lilina asked.

"They are currently shoring up the gate, Lady Lilina," Isadora replied. "However, even with their numbers, the brigands still outnumber us nearly four to one."

"Four to one means they have roughly one hundred and fifty men," Eliwood said, "I'm assuming several bands we failed to root out joined them as well?"

"That is correct, Lord Eliwood," Isadora frowned, "apparently, they believe that Pherae falls, the surrounding lands would be subject to their raiding as well. That is why the bandits from Bern and Pherae are working together."

"Very well," Eliwood said, "Lilina, return to your room until this is over."

"Uncle Eliwood, I can help too!" Lilina protested.

"You will _not_ subject yourself to unnecessary danger," Eliwood said sternly. "If you were injured by some ill-timed projectile, I'd never be able to face Hector. He sent you here precisely for your safety! Isadora, please take Lilina to her room."

Giving Lilina a kind smile, Isadora offered a hand to the young girl, "Come, Lady Lilina, there is no need for you to fight as well." Reluctantly, Lilina accepted and the two departed Eliwood's chambers.

On the wall, Harken ducked as poorly-aimed hand ax went flying by. Though the Pheraen archers gave as good as they got, nothing seemed to deter the bandits working with the battering ram. The bandits hated Pherae's periodical knight forays and did their utmost to destroy the symbol of Pherae's power. Time and time again, the tree trunk struck the unyielding steel gates. No gate, no matter how well built, would last forever against a determined foe.

Harken let fly the hand ax that was aimed at him and was rewarded with a cry of pain below. Glancing at the archer beside him, Harken pulled the man down. Half a second longer and Dave would've decapitated by another ax.

"Whew, thanks Sir Harken!"

"No problem," Harken replied, and then grimaced at his protesting joints.

"How long do you think we can hold them off?" Dave asked.

Harken shook his head, "Since we can't sortie, they have all day to knock down the gates. Once the gate is breeched, then the situation will be grim indeed."

"Won't the local villages be able to help us out?"

"The bandits are ruthless fighters while villagers specialize in farming," Harken said. "As soldiers of Pherae, it is our duty to defend the countryside from their raids. Where is our honor if we call upon those we defend to aid us? Even if a band of militia arrives from Tobiah, they cannot stand against such large numbers of bandits in open battle!"

Overhead, a distinctive whistling noise sounded over the battlefield.

"What the…?" Harken looked skywards to see an arrow shoot off into the sky. "That's a whistling arrow, the signal that Tobiah hunters are in the vicinity!"

Dave chanced a look over the battlements, "Sir Harken, a band of archers just exited the forest?"

"What?" Harken said in dismay, "Wil, you fool! You've caused the death of your friends!"

Standing well out of range from the castle walls, Damas and two score of his bandits turned to face the new threat. A seasoned brigand from the Bern Mountains, Damas had long plotted for a daring siege on Castle Pherae. Buoyed with weapons from Bern, Damas allied with the surviving bands in Pherae for this attack. While half of his men were attacking the castle, Damas and kept the other half in reserve to deal with any foolhardy militia that came to 'lift' the siege. He grinned wolfishly at the dozen or so bow-bearing villagers that were now hurriedly fleeing for the woods.

"Those idiots, thinking they can break us with a dozen archers?" Damas guffawed, "Merrid, take your two dozen boys and drag those buckos back here!"

Merrid was the leader of one of the bandit gangs hiding in Pherae. Two years ago, his hideout was razed to the ground by Pheraen knights on the patrol. Swearing vengeance for the slight, Merrid was all too happy to join in the sacking of Castle Pherae.

"Will do, boss!" Merrid swung his ax overhead as he stormed after the fleeing villagers with twenty men behind him. "Wait up, my beauties! Let my ax kiss you to sleep."

Merrid and his band stopped at the edge of the woods where they saw the archers climb into the trees. Leering at the villagers, Merrid and his cronies began jeering at them.

"Got yourselves into quite a pickle, eh? Come down and save us the trouble of chopping the trees down."

"Any sweat hearts you got at home? Tell me her name and I'll leave your head on her doorstep."

Merrid was getting impatient, "Aw, hurry up and bring them down. I don't care… Ah!" One of the archers had fired an arrow that grazed Merrid's arm. "Get them down, dead or alive!"

"Uh, boss?" One of the bandits tugged on Merrid's sleeve while the rest approached the trees.

"What is it now?" Merrid asked irritably.

"Are you hearing what I'm hearing?" The brigand asked, "I'm hearing this rumbling noise that's coming from the forest."

"Are you stupid?" Merrid backhanded the bandit, "Why the devil would the forest be making noises?"

"I don't know!" The bandit whined, "I just know that it's getting louder, as if something's coming this way!"

"You idio…" Merrid stopped as a disturbing thought chilled his heart. His underling's description came awfully close to something that every Pheraen bandit dreaded. "Oh, shit! Get those boys away from the trees!"

Merrid's warning came just half a second too late.

Before the eyes of the astounded bandits, the bushes and shrubbery exploded outwards. Out of the trees came wave after wave of mounted horsemen with swords raised to kill. The sun's rays broke through the clouds and reflected off the pure blue plate mail that the cavaliers were wearing. In the lead, astride a black stallion of great spirit, rode a young man with hair that seemed to glow like fire. His left hand was clasped tightly around the reins of his steed while the right hand held a jeweled long sword. The blade arched forward, catching the sunlight in its warlike slash. Out of his throat and all of his command echoed the time-honored war cry of Pherae.

_"Forward, Talons of Pherae!"_

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_Throughout this fiction, I will be bending the class rules a bit. Thank you for reading and review if you have the time!_


	3. Roy of Pherae

_Author's Corner:_

_Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!_

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**Legacy of Valshannar – Chapter 2**

**Roy of Pherae**

Every Pheraen bandit could not help but shudder as the thundering war cry of the Pheraen knights tore through the air. Unlike their partners from Bern, the Pheraen bandits had regularly tasted the vengeance of steel these cavaliers dished out. As the surrounding valley echoed the cry, it seemed as if an army of hundred had shouted out the challenge instead of a band of fifty. Panicking, the bandits hailing from Pherae were quite ready to bolt for their lives.

Damas, however, was a seasoned veteran of several dozen organized raids. Damas had clashed successfully with innumerous Bern and Lycian troops in the past, each time walking away to savor the victory. As a wanted fugitive in both Bern and Lycia, he was quite surprised to be approached by Bern officials offering him amnesty in exchange for razing Pherae. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Damas had jumped at the opportunity to make a name for himself by sacking the vaunted Castle Pherae. Needless to say, the promise of a spectacular reward in the castle would be a much-appreciated bonus.

"Hey!" Damas shouted at his subordinates. "Keep the boys from breaking off, ya hear me?"

Recognizing the incredible threat that the knights presented, Damas' first decision was to keep the Pheraen bandits in line. His gang, filled with the most ruthless and battle-hardened brigands from Bern, could be counted on to hold their own. Pherae's bandits, however, have been cowed for years under the pounding hooves of these knights. Nevertheless, Damas wished to keep as many would-be allies around him as possible. Even if the hapless Pheraen bandits were hopeless in battle, at least they made decent meat shields.

_Or maybe not, _Damas thought as he watched the Pheraen knights crush Merrid's band underfoot. Merrid himself was slain by the red-haired youth that was leading the charge. The boy, if looks were any indication, appeared by a lad in his mid-teens, though he wielded a cavalier's long sword with both finesse and skill. However, surrounded as he was by a host of veteran cavaliers, the boy was the least of Damas' worries.

"Scatter formation," Damas barked out to his men.

Other than a mighty phalanx of spears, infantry could do little against a charge of heavy horse. Damas, through his experiences against heavy cavalry, devised a plan that worked with mixed success using overwhelming numbers of bandits. Cavalry were more devastating when they ran over their enemies, as Merrid and his pack evidently found out. However, if the bandits separated themselves as to attack the passing cavaliers from the sides as they rode past, Damas could still carry the day. This tactic usually cost the lives of quite a few underlings, but Damas was blessed with a smattering of Pheraen bandits who served as excellent bait.

Pherae charged on, seemingly oblivious to the danger at hand. Indeed, when the cavalry was twenty yards away from the clump of bandits, gaps appeared in their line, as if more cavaliers were moving forward to join their brethren on the battle line.

_Yes, come closer and let us teach you some respect! _Damas smirked wolfishly as victory came within his grasp. His victorious grin vanished as he saw the second row of cavaliers extend pointed lances between their comrades in the first line.

_The gaps in the line were only so that the second wave could cover for the first! _Damas realized. _With that formation, if the boys jump into place, they'll be clobbered!_

"Oh, no…" Damas paled, "you idiots! Don't jump in into the…"

Before Damas could even finish his sentence, Pherae was already upon them. A few were fortunate enough to survive when they darted into position. The bandit formation held briefly, and then shattered as Pheraen knights snapped their lines into two faltering halves. While Damas and a few of his veteran raiders continued to fight, the majority of the bandits were throwing away any encumbering equipment as they fled for the hills. Splintering off into four separate squadrons, Pherae pursued the raiders with a vengeance.

Surrounded by cavaliers with only three trusty men by his side, Damas tasted the bitterness of defeat. In front of him, the red-haired youth that led the charge was still mounted, his sword coated in a thin tinge of blood. At a word, Damas and his men would be chopped to fish bait.

"Throw down your arms," the boy said, pointing his sword at Damas. "Surrender and I will allow you to leave with your lives."

"And why would I trust you, brat?" Damas spat.

The boy's brow darkened in anger. "I swear upon my honor as a knight, scum. Unlike you cowardly filth that only attack the helpless, my word is actually reliable. Now throw down your arms!"

"I may die, but I'll be damned if I bend the knee!" Damas screamed, "With me, brothers!"

The boy hesitated briefly before sighing wearily, "Alan, finish it."

A dark-haired cavalier clad in armor tinged with red swept out with his blade, silencing Damas permanently. The other cavaliers swiftly put down the other three bandits. The boy commander watched silently as the three bandits were slain. Behind them, another mounted knight wearing indigo armor approached the group, dismounting as he came before the youth.

"Master Roy," the knight said, "I left Lance in charge of the pursuit. He should return in a half a candle mark or so."

Roy snapped out of his melancholy mood, "Very well, Marcus. Detail a few men to remove the battering ram. Everyone else is to continue clearing the battlefield and prepare for imminent sorties. Dismissed!"

The cavaliers saluted with their swords before departing for their respective duties. Only Alan and Marcus remained with their mounted lord.

"Master Roy," Alan complained, "why does Lance always receive the pursuit assignments? Surely you do not doubt my courage and skills?"

"I'd venture to say that Master Roy doubts your level-headedness," Marcus chided the knight. "You are not the most patient soldier, Alan. Your impulsiveness may cost you the lives of your comrades."

"Ah, that's true," Alan looked abashed. "Lance does tend to think things through more often than I do."

"Don't look so down, Alan," Roy laughed for the first time since the battle. "To Lance, I delegate scouting and pursuits, Marcus is the seasoned veteran that can commandeer the situation in my absence, and you are my strong right arm that leads the vanguard. Everyone possesses different skills that make them unique, which is essential in a cavalry host."

"Master Roy," Marcus said, "it appears that Harken or Isadora has opened the castle gates. Should I assemble the Order?"

"Of course," Roy said, "I must speak with Father as soon as possible."

"Master Roy!"

A green haired knight came to a halt before Roy. Spilling from the saddle, the knight in green armor bowed slightly before speaking.

"Master Roy, a few of the knights recovered these parchments from the bandit leader's belongings. I thought that you might want to take a look?"

"Hand it here, Lance," Roy replied.

Stepping forward, Lance offered the batch of papers in both hands. Accepting the formidable bundle from Lance, Roy frowned after scanning a few of the letters within.

"A bandit from Bern needs to carry so many papers?" Roy asked.

"Perhaps there is more to this man than meets the eye, Master Roy," Marcus said. "It is exceedingly suspicious that a bandit needs to carry such a large amount of correspondence. Perchance Merlinus should scrutinize the contents?"

Since coming to serve Pherae after the conclusion to the Campaign of Fire, Merlinus had established himself as an indispensable vassal to Eliwood. As both steward and master of informants, Merlinus became Eliwood's competent right hand when dealing with foreign and domestic affairs. Though his network paled in comparison to the brilliant agents from Ostia, Merlinus still used his extensive pool of friends and past business partners to decipher any information that could be useful towards Pherae's future. Owing to his merchant background, Merlinus could easily trace any document through his web of business associates.

Roy brightened at that suggestion. "Excellent suggestion, Marcus! I'll see this to Merlinus as soon as we secure the countryside."

Moments later, the surviving members from the Order of the Talon were passing beneath the gateway of Castle Pherae. In an ordinary skirmish against brigands, Pheraen knights usually escaped lasting injury. However, due to the sheer size and greater degree of skill in this combined bandit force, nearly half a dozen knights were wounded or killed in action. All in all, the battle was one of Pherae's more difficult struggles.

The crowd obviously didn't think so.

The moment the knights entered the courtyard, they were greeted with a thundering ovation. Besides the guards for Lord Eliwood, Castle Pherae also housed over one hundred servants that kept the castle in pristine condition. The castle's inhabitants, soldiers or servants alike, exploded into applause as if the knights were the Eight Heroes come to life again. When Roy awkwardly raised a hand in recognition, the cheers peaked in fervor and excitement. It was only when Roy and Marcus dismounted did the cheering stop.

"Marcus," Roy asked as the two were making their way to Eliwood's chamber. "Is it always like this?"

"You are referring to the greeting, I presume?" Marcus smiled thinnly, "I'm afraid so, Master Roy. After a few more victories under your belt, you'll become accustomed to hero worship."

"How can they even react like this?" Roy said, "We killed people out there, Marcus, human beings just like us. I… I've never taken a life before today…"

"They are not like us, Master Roy," Marcus said. "Pardon my bluntness, but those brigands would've killed any of us and forgotten the deed after wiping their ax clean. No, we are knights, the flowers of chivalry, and completely different from the avaricious scum we slew today."

"That does not make them any less dead," Roy said stubbornly, "In the past, I've never seen anyone order the complete annihilation of a defeated foe. Yet today, _I_ ordered the pursuit!"

"Master Roy, do you…" Marcus searched for the proper term, "hesitate to strike down the foe?"

"Hesitation is folly on the battlefield, both you and Harken have pounded that into my thick skull years ago," Roy said. "I only hesitate to become the bloodthirsty beasts that we turned into today. What is the difference between the bandits and ourselves when we both employ equal savagery and callousness in battle?"

"The _beast_ that lurks within each knight's soul is a chained creature, Master Roy," Marcus replied. "We only unleash its wrath when those we protect are threatened by possible harm."

"Protecting the helpless," Roy intoned, "does not mean I have to abandon my humanity. My sword will strike down all who threaten what I hold dear, but I shall never again become the monster I became today."

The conversation came to a halt as Roy and Marcus appeared before the unguarded doorway leading to Eliwood's bedchamber. At the time, Harken was on the castle walls tending with the wounded while Isadora was inspecting the damages dealt to the castle gates. They were temporarily relieved of their duties since the timely arrival of Pheraen cavaliers sufficiently staffed the castle's defenses. Marcus assumed the guardsman's role as Roy entered the room. However, the aging knight's thoughts lingered on his conversation with Roy.

_Only in the heirs of Pherae can there be found nobles so naïve to even dream of keeping a pure soul, _Marcus thought as his eyes lingered on the youth that he came to care for as his own son. _And it is precisely because of this naïveté that Master Roy will find no equal in his generation in righteousness or strength of character. Master Roy, if there is any way that this old relic can serve you, my life and honor are yours to command._

Inside the room, Roy found his father and Merlinus speaking together. Seeing Roy enter the chamber, Eliwood's eyes brightened as he raised himself to a sitting position on the bed. Turning around as well, Merlinus rose and bowed to the future Marquess Pherae.

"Father," Roy said, breaking the silence, "how do you feel?"

"Recovering, though hardly normal," Eliwood replied, "I must congratulate you, Roy, on making such a speedy time returning from Ostia."

"We rested only to spare the horses, Father," Roy said. "If we were able to procure replacement horses along the way, we would've returned sooner."

"There was no harm done, Roy," Eliwood said. "You did not come a minute too soon, though I fear that we may already be too late. Hector holds Castle Araphen against a thousand Bern soldiers that come with superior weaponry and skill in arms. He will need Pherae to break the siege."

"A thousand men?" Merlinus asked, aghast at the news. "Pherae at best can field one hundred knights, assuming no one is left to defend the countryside."

"While you were still scouring the countryside," Eliwood said, "Lilina departed for Ostia accompanied by several dozen knights under Sir Bors. If some mishap were to befall Hector, the Alliance would splinter into pieces. Lilina must be in Ostia to ascend the throne and quell the chaos before all is lost.

"Even if you cannot defeat Bern in battle, Pherae is still honor-bound to lend aid," Eliwood continued. "In your absence, I chartered a group of mercenaries to aid in this battle. They intended to pass through Rosiar at the foot of the Bern Mountains, but they should have arrived days ago. Preferably, Roy, detail someone to make a slight detour and ascertain their location. Merlinus, I trust that you will accompany Roy to Araphen?"

"I am always ready to serve, Lord Eliwood," Merlinus replied, "I will only tarry enough to ready the supplies."

"Merlinus, half a moment please," Roy said as he fished out the bundle retrieved from Damas' corpse. "Lance found this in the bandit leader's bags while clearing the battlefield. Though the contents detail that these bandits attacked under Bern's guidance, I wonder if you could..."

Merlinus caught Roy's meaning instantly, "Search for any further links? Of course, Master Roy!"

Eliwood frowned as Merlinus accepted the papers from Roy. "Bern would certainly explain the audacity of these bandits. Certainly no one has dared to attack Castle… Merlinus, what is it?" Eliwood asked as Merlinus' face paled.

"Merlinus?" Roy asked.

Merlinus remained frozen as he gazed upon the parchment he held in his hands. In the dim lighting of the room, the text appeared almost to be written in blood. A text that began with words held immortal since the moment they were emblazoned upon the halls of Ostia's Royal Crypt...

_**A thousand years since the last Reckoning,**_

_**Unleash the flames of a second Scouring.**_

_**Unbent, Uncowed, Undaunted,**_

_**Fear not the wrath of Winter Unending.**_

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The four towers in the corners of Castle Araphen had defended the castle's inhabitants against all comers for many a year. Though comparably stingy in their services to the people, the rulers of Araphen never neglected the defenses of their personal fortress. Every year, the ruling Marquess Araphen specifically sets aside a significant portion of their revenue and taxes towards renovating Castle Araphen despite the groaning of their constituents. Thanks to these sanctimonious, self-righteous pigs, Castle Araphen was able to withstand each and every assault ever mounted against its sturdy walls.

Each and every assault, that is, until Bern began its day and night bombardment.

What the Lycian outriders had failed to take into account was the sudden change in pace the Bern army utilized. As a result, the Bern vanguard appeared at Araphen's gates in two days instead of the forecasted two weeks. Sain had, under Hector's orders, led a sortie against the besiegers with some success, but was forced to retreat when the rest of the Bern army arrived. With Sain's failure to break the surrounding foes, Castle Araphen became completely encircled by the invading Bern army.

Employing an overwhelming amount of siege weapons, the First and Second Bern Legions rained down stones, grappling hooks and catapult shots against the masonry of Castle Araphen. The long arm of the trebuchets easily hurtled boulders the size of small carts over the battlements, scattering brick and flesh alike upon impact. On the walls, the Lycian defenders were beset by a veritable hail of onager and catapult attacks. No fortification, no matter how well built or maintained, could stand forever against endless barrages of siege weaponry.

As befitting the most powerful military force in Elibe, Bern's military arm was tempered with intelligence and tactics along with fighting skills. Rather than sacrificing the lives of countless Bern warriors in an all out frontal assault as Narshen suggested, Brenya prevailed in her stance towards bombarding the castle into submission. With Zephiel's confirmation, Brenya's siege crews went to work lighting Castle Araphen from one end to the other.

With precise planning and perfect execution, the damning siege left Hector with a dismal choice of options.

Hector, General of Ostia and Leader of the Lycian League, was currently patrolling the castle walls despite his bodyguards' incessant concern for his safety. Blatantly disregarding the falling chunks of rock all around him, Hector's very presence seemed to alleviate the wavering doubts of the Lycian defenders. Cowed by three days of non-stop bombardment, the morale of the Alliance Army suffered terribly from Bern's merciless attacks. When Hector was near, the tension in the air thawed slightly, but when the Ostian Lord moved on, the bleak atmosphere returned.

"Lord Hector, a word if you please."

Amongst the milling nincompoops that called themselves Lycians, Hector at least had a handful of swords he could count on. Sain, the one-time Green Lance of Caelin, stood wearily in the courtyard below as he bowed towards Hector. A brilliant battlefield leader in his own right, Sain's irresistible charisma easily inspired his comrades to feats of valor and courage. While Hector was inspecting the southern and western walls of Castle Araphen, Sain was the one sweeping the northern battlements looking for trouble. However, the Caelin knight had scarcely seen any rest in the past four days, and his alertness visibly suffered.

"What is it now?" Hector asked as he descended the stairs with his guards in tow.

"The other lords," the honorific was delivered heavily laden with contempt, "seek your audience in _another_ council."

One of the knights behind Hector cursed at the mere mentioning of a council, but stopped when Hector held up a hand for silence. Hector could readily understand the animosity the rank-and-file Alliance soldiers bore for the majority of the Lycian Lords in Araphen. Discounting the fact that they lived in luxury behind high walls while the soldiers risked their lives, the lords were publicly showing signs of submission after many Lycians had perished in the siege. With the exception of Marquess Sarpedon, the other lords have become increasingly edgy throughout the siege. Every day, the 'council' assembled and demanded that Hector submit to the invaders.

"They will never learn," Hector growled. "Why can't they take after Marquess Sarpedon and grow a backbone for a change?"

Marquess Sarpedon of Kathelet was the oldest member of the Lycian Council at seventy-two. Hailing from a line of fierce warriors and proud statesmen, Sarpedon was the only lord besides Hector that did not blanch in fear at the sight of the Bern army. In an era where old age was typically associated with cowardice and timidity, Sarpedon shown with a brilliant light as he defied the words 'weak' and 'frail.' Thinning white hair ran over Sarpedon's wrinkled brow while his sunken eyes inspected the western walls every three candle marks. Determined not to sully the illustrious names of his forefathers by surrendering to Bern, Sarpedon had loudly proclaimed his support for Hector's defense of Araphen.

_Too bad those woolen headed, turkey livered, sons of cowards in the keep don't think that way, _Hector thought as he stormed towards the keep with his retinue behind him. To his left, Sain ascended the stairs leading to the upper battlements. It would certainly not do for the castle to collapse while the lords were closeted in council!

The keep was a grandiose tower that stood in the middle of Castle Araphen. Surrounded by several yards of solid stone and brick, a keep was literally a castle within a castle, where a defense could be mounted if the outer walls were breached. Round at its base with murder holes and arrow slits above, the keep could defy a large army if the defense was properly conducted. The keep also served as the residence of the marquess during peace, housing any immediate family and necessary supplies. However, when war erupted, it came as no surprise that the self-serving lords huddled inside the relative safety of the keep, leaving the fighting to their underlings and vassals.

After climbing half a dozen flights of stairs, Hector came to a halt before the double-doors leading to Castle Araphen's assembly room. Ordering his bodyguards to hold vigil at the doorway, Hector furiously shoved the doors open. Reacting to the violent force, the double-doors swung inwards with a bang. Startled by Hector's entrance, the five lords abandoned their chairs and rose to their feet.

The reception was split into two distinctive groups: Sarpedon on one side, and the rest shrinking in a corner. While Sarpedon's greeting could be said to be warm at the very least, the other lords' welcome were chilly at best.

Not that Hector's reply was any warmer, "Greetings, milords. What could have happened that so urgently requires the attention of _every_ marquess in Araphen?"

Hector had, over the course of three days, steamrolled any attempt to comprise his stance on Bern. Encircled in a ring of foes, the other lords except Sarpedon were quite ready to bend the knee and swear fealty to Zephiel. To them, surviving in disgrace was far better than dying with honor.

After a brief moment of silence, Pandarus of Thria presented his case, "Lord Hector, as much as we care for the well being of Araphen, this battle is far from winnable. Originally, we were summoned here to aid in the common defense of Araphen, which was threatened by Bern's aggression..."

"I fail to see how that has changed," Hector glared at the son of his half-brother.

Pandarus faltered, paling at the piercing gaze Hector leveled at him. Seeing Pandarus wavering, Marquess Rhesus of Santaruz took up the negotiation, "What Sir Pandarus was trying to say, Lord Hector, is that Marquess Lancel is willing to parley with King Zephiel of Bern. Surely this would negate any threat that Araphen is suffering from, so there is no need for the Alliance Army to remain here."

_So they've subverted Lancel as well?_ Hector's face did not betray any hint of emotion as he turned to face Marquess Lancel of Araphen, "And what do you hope to gain through parleying?"

Marquess Lancel visibly relaxed. The Ostian Lord was showing signs of conciliation, perhaps he could be persuaded to submit as well. "Araphen could submit to Bern, Lord Hector. In the face of Bern's military might, this castle cannot hold out for much longer. Instead of bathing these walls in blood, Araphen will surrender to Bern, promising an annual tribute in order to alleviate the threat of future invasion. If this treaty is signed..."

"...Bern would cease to be a threat, correct?" Hector said steely.

Marquess Dolon of Tuscanny, completely missing Hector's growing anger, smugly agreed. "Exactly! Then we can all go..."

"Go to hell!" Sarpedon finished furiously, "You all are well aware, of course, that Araphen is physically _unable_ to enter into a treaty with Bern? Have you all forgotten the 7th Chapter of the Lycian Covenant?"

"Oh yes, I was forgetting that," Hector said with a predatory smile, "Lord Lancel, how do you propose circumventing the Lycian Covenant? The 7th Chapter enumerates that no individual Lycian state may sign a treaty with a foreign sovereignty. That power is strictly reserved for the Council itself. Please, enlighten me if you can?"

"We could vote right now, if you please," Marquess Lancel blabbered, "I mean, there are five of us here…"

"Impossible," Hector said, "The 2nd Chapter of the Lycian Covenant states that every member of the Council must be present, or at least assign a representative, in order for the Council to enact any law or accommodate any motion."

Dolon of Tuscanny refused to budge, "Perchance Lord Hector can excuse Marquess Lancel for this special occasion? I mean, Bern's power greatly exceeds Lycia, and sacrificing our lives here would be quite meaningless."

"Meaningless? Meaningless?" Sarpedon frothed, "Have you gone mad, Marquess Dolon? We are the _heirs_ of Roland, damn you, Roland! Shall we spit upon our ancestor's memory by bending the knee and swearing allegiance to a son of Hartmut? Lycia has enjoyed one thousand years of freedom, and you are willing to throw that away because _one_ damnable army is sitting on our doorstep? Preposterous!"

"Permission is not granted," Hector said gravely, "I will not, and cannot, be the Ostian Lord that barters Lycian independence for personal safety. Listen to yourselves, milords, and carefully consider what you are trying to say. One thousand years ago, during the War of Heirs, your ancestors refused to swear fealty and were brave enough to fight for their claim. Even in the face of annihilation, their resolve was steadfast and their hearts frozen to the prospect of despair. Shall we, as descendants of their dreams and hopes, shame our noble houses in our bid for survival? Nay, I say! Blood may spill, heads may roll, but Lycia will _never _surrender!"

"Hear, hear!" Sarpedon shouted.

"But, Lord Hector..." Lancel said.

"But nothing, Marquess Lancel," Hector said, "Nothing will change my resolve. Your audience is at an end."

"You will doom Lycia in your obstinacy, Hector!" Dolon declared angrily.

Pandarus grabbed Dolon's shoulder. "I advise you to be careful, Marquess Dolon. I may agree with your proposal for Lycia's future, but Lord Hector is still my father's elder brother and our liege. Treat him with the respect he deserves, otherwise," Pandarus' eyes hardened, "you will answer to me!"

"You dare threaten me?" Dolon cried.

_So Orun's son is not completely lost_, Hector inwardly sighed with relief, "Stop this, both of you! Pandarus, though I thank you for your sentiments, you are not Marquess Thria yet, so remember thy place. However, from this day forth, there will be no talk of surrender or parley. Anyone caught mentioning these words, be they noble or commoner, will be punished as a traitor! Is that understood?"

The sullen lords conceded that they lost this round. "Understood, Lord Hector!"

The lords left the council room, with Hector departing last. As the various Lycian Lords descended the stairs, Hector was stopped by Sain at the doorway.

"Sain, what is it now?" Hector growled as he rubbed at his eyes. "Wait, tell me Bern didn't breach the walls while I was in the council."

Sain laughed, letting a small bit of his cocky nature take over. "Bern is content to continue the bombardment for the moment. By the way, who was the lord that left first? His scowl could've scared every mother's son this side of the border!"

"Probably Dolon," Hector said, "he was the one engineering the surrender motion. Pandarus of Thria had a few choice words with him earlier during the council."

"Dolon of Tuscanny?" Sain frowned, "I've heard some interesting rumors regarding his loyalties, Lord Hector. Best keep an eye on that one."

It was Hector's turn to scowl. "Shifting loyalties? Dolon may be disagreeable at times, but I question whether he would go so far as blatant betrayal. He's just a money-grubbing buffoon that's only interested in saving his own hide. Anyways, why did you seek me out?"

"This came by a messenger pigeon," Sain said grimly, holding a small dispatch tied with a ribbon. "I've taken the liberty to read its contents, but you might want to take a look yourself."

With a bemused look, Hector took the letter from Sain. Ignoring the Seal of Ostia stamped at its head, Hector read the first few lines before coloring and reading the rest in a hurry. Crumpling the paper in his palm, Hector cursed as he drilled the wooden door with an armored fist.

"By the gods, all of them were burnt?"

"They are still searching for survivors," Sain replied, "however, the supplies are a dead loss. Stretched to half rations, Castle Araphen can hold out for another week or so, but even that's not a guarantee."

Hector cursed again, "Did anyone from Ciaran find out the perpetrators of this treachery?"

"There were an ample amount of hoof marks near the scene of the battle," Sain said, "but mixed with the trampling oxen of the caravan, nothing definite could be made out."

"Keep this from the men at all costs, Sain. The soldiers are already ready to jump ship, and this may be the last straw to break their backs."

"I understand."

Hector and Sain continued down the stairs, discussing possible solutions to the increasingly dismal state of affairs. Unfortunately, both had forgotten a time-tested rule when discussing state secrets in a public location.

The walls have ears.

_

* * *

_

"Open up, in the name of the king!"

"What is the meaning of this? I'm a law-abiding citizen of Bern! You can't do this to me!"

"Shut your trap!"

Wilfred, mayor of Rosiar, could only watch incredulously as Bern soldiers roused villager after villager from their homes. Herding the confused civilians into the town square, forty soldiers began rifling through house after house, intent on searching for something. Failing to find whatever they were looking for, their commander, a certain Rude of Castle Brient, had ordered his men to interrogate the populace. Defying the Bern statutes that forbade this roughshod treatment of citizens, Rude and his men mercilessly thrashed any stubborn villager who refused to answer their questions.

Unable to contain his outrage any longer, Wilfred pushed his way through the milling soldiers and villagers until he arrived before Rude himself. Planting himself firmly before the armored knight, Wilfred exploded in anger.

"Sir, as mayor of Rosiar, I must protest against this unlawful treatment of my fellow citizens! We have broken no law, harmed no soul, and caused no mishap to Bern! What is the meaning of this!"

Rude, a knight with balding hair due to too many years at a backwater post, sneered at Wilfred. "You are aware that harboring a royal fugitive _is_ against the law?"

"What royal fugitive are you talking about?" Wilfred roared, "Rosiar hasn't seen the likes of royalty since its establishment three generations ago! Who the devil are you talking about?"

"Oh, is that so?" Rude said silkily, "Well, a certain member of your township has confessed that Rosiar is harboring Princess Guinevere, sister to King Zephiel. The king has decreed that the princess is to be apprehended and transported back to the capital immediately!"

"Who says Princess Guinevere is in Rosiar?" One of the villagers shouted.

"This woman does," Rude gestured for his men to bring forth the informer.

Wilfred colored in shame when he recognized the informer. Around him, the other villagers began cursing aloud when Mia walked brazenly into their midst flanked by two soldiers.

A smug smile adorning her lips, Mia smirked victoriously at her husband. "Why hello again, dearest, aren't you pleased to see me?"

Choking with rage and humiliation, Wilfred could only babble, "You... you... did this?"

"Why, dearest, you almost sound displeased with me!" Mia laughed, "Think about it for a second, my dear. For the simple task of turning in our mysterious tenant, we could receive a rich reward and shower our names in glory! We could profit greatly from this exchange!"

"For profit, you'd subject the lives of our peaceful neighbors to this chaos?" Wilfred asked bitterly.

"Absolutely!" Mia said without a second of hesitation, "What are they but obstacles to my advancement in this world?"

Wilfred slapped his wife. Shocked by the blow, Mia collapsed face first into the earth. The mayor would've done more, but was restrained by the soldiers accompanying Mia.

"You can settle your feud after we retrieve Princess Guinevere," Rude said, "Now own up, where is she?"

Wilfred glared from his kneeling position, "You barbarians! What makes you think that I'll tell you anything?"

Rude sighed, "Oh, I always _detested_ violence, but it appears to me that I have no choice but to use force. Thrash him!"

Using the butt of their spears, the two soldiers covered Wilfred in a flurry of blows. Kneeling on the ground, there was nothing the mayor of Rosiar could do except bear the beating as best he could. When one of the spears clipped him in the jaw, Wilfred went sprawling on the ground beside his kneeling wife.

"Wait, stop!" One of the villagers called out, "If you're looking for Mayor Wilfred's visitor, I'll tell you where she is. Just don't hurt him any more!"

"Ah, one idiot with an ounce of sense in him," Rude said mockingly as he turned towards the two torturers. "Bring the man over here!"

Grabbing the villager between the two of them, the soldiers brought the man before Rude. From his appearances, the man appeared to be a woodcutter with burly arms and a flop of blond hair on his head. Several of the villagers looked disapprovingly at the man, but held their tongues.

Impatient at the man's hesitation to speak, Rude slapped the man. "Well, what are you waiting for? Speak up man!"

"Well, I guess it doesn't really matter," the woodcutter replied, "since you'll never catch her anyways."

"What?"

"She's already left Rosiar, sir," came the reply. "Left roughly two candle marks ago headed east."

"WHAT?" Rude roared, "Then what the devil are you gawking there for, men? Get your act together!"

As the soldiers gathered in a cloud of dust, Wilfred struggled to his feet. Leaving his wife sitting in the dust, he clucked his tongue at the woodcutter. "Sam, you shouldn't have told them anything."

Sam apologized, "Sorry mayor, but I rather say something than see you get beaten up by those scum."

"I'd rather take a beating," Wilfred sighed, "Least that will alleviate some of the," he glanced at his shaken wife, "sin I've accumulated."

"Well, no harm done, right?" Sam said.

"No harm done?" Wilfred repeated, "You could've doomed an innocent lady with your words! But I must thank you for thinking on my behalf..."

Sam looked askance at the mayor, "Sorry mayor... Hello, what's this?"

Of the forty soldiers that came with Rude to Rosiar, only half of them were actually assembled in the town square; the other half was still engaged in pillaging the town of its valuables. One of the soldiers, furious that the house he barged into was bereft of jewelry, torched the building in revenge.

"Never seen soldiers in action?" Rude leered, "There's no need to deploy all forty men to retrieve one princess. While I lead this capture troupe, the rest of my boys will be relieving you of your valuables. Act nicely and you may see the sun set, you hear me?"

"Barbarians..." Sam muttered as he watched several soldiers ransack his home.

"In war, we see the true side of a man's soul," Wilfred said as a detachment of Rude's forces left the village. "Well, come on, let's see if we can still salvage something out of this mess."

The surrounding villagers nodded. The war, once considered the business of lords, had latched onto their backwater town with claws of steel.

_

* * *

_

Three miles away from Rosiar, Guinevere treaded calmly into the midst of a mercenary band. Earlier, Guinevere had encountered a high-flying pegasus knight that descended through the clouds to meet her. Identifying herself as Thany, the blue-haired pegasus rider had asked why a high-born lady such as Guinevere was wandering in the countryside without any companions. After hearing Guinevere's story, Thany adamantly maintained that the princess travels with Thany's outfit. Employing her pegasus as transportation, Thany ferried Guinevere to Dieck's encampment, situated in the middle of a forest clearing.

Aforementioned commander of the mercenary group was not pleased.

Dieck was always a firm believer in the words 'simplicity is a virtue.' In his opinion, missions and jobs that went off with the least amount of complications were more apt to succeed. Showing admirable restraint when dealing with the myriad of complications he already ran into, Dieck moved to greet his new guest. Already, he had cuffed two of his men for eyeing the beautiful woman in a devious manner.

Sighing, Dieck rubbed his eyes before speaking, "I apologize for the lack of comfort, milady. I hope you will not hold this against us poor mercenaries."

"I fear my days of comfort are far behind me, Captain," Guinevere replied, "I discarded them the day I swore to bring peace back to Elibe."

"Please, call me Dieck," Dieck replied, "I am no captain, just the leader of this band of brothers."

"Ahem!" Thany coughed, bringing her pegasus into the clearing.

"Band of brothers and _sister_," Dieck amended, "Thany has already told me of your intent to parley with the Lycian Lords. However, I must question your wisdom in traveling alone during these trying times."

"I was not alone," Guinevere answered, "I started this journey in the company of a priestess. I lost contact with her several candle marks ago, which prompted me to search for her whereabouts."

"Did you say a priestess of the St. Elimine Church?" Dieck asked, "Do you recall what she was wearing?"

"Her long brunette hair is covered in a white shawl and she is dressed in the typical white robes of a novice," Guinevere said. "And her name is..."

"Ellen, right?" Ward, one of the ax men standing to Dieck's left, hazarded a guess.

"Why, yes," Guinevere looked confused, "but how did you know?"

"Well, much like yourself," Ward said, "Miss Ellen also blundered into our midst, despite Thany's assurances that there was no one around for leagues."

Lott, Ward's companion, clapped him on the shoulder. "Mind your manners, bro."

"Hey!" Thany pouted, "Even I can't see everything in these woods, you know! If you would keep your own eyes open, Ward, you could've avoided stepping on Miss Ellen's prayer book!"

"Right, whatever you say," Ward waved a hand dismissively, "little sister."

"Grr," Thany smacked the back of Ward's head with the handle of her spear.

"Princess?"

Everyone turned slightly to see Ellen peek out from behind a tree where she was reading. Conscious of the stares she was drawing, Ellen turned beet red with embarrassment before meekly advancing before Guinevere.

"Ellen, I'm glad to see you are unharmed," Guinevere said gently.

"Your Highness," Ellen bowed her head, "I fear I have caused you much trouble."

"Nonsense," Guinevere replied, "your safety is much more important than several candle marks of leisurely time in Rosiar."

"Pardon me, princess," Lott interjected, "but I fear your 'leisurely' time in Rosiar would've most rudely cut short if you hadn't left when you had."

Guinevere frowned, "What do you mean by that?"

"Soldiers from Castle Brient ransacked the village a candle mark or two after you left," Lott said as he jerked a thumb at a mercenary behind him. "Vince was just leaving town with a bottle of rum when that happened."

"Oh, merciful God..." Ellen murmured.

"They were probably searching for you, princess," Dieck said, "if you don't mind me saying so, but you're not exactly conspicuous in a crowd."

Guinevere paled slightly, but regained her composure. "My objective will not change. Too many lives have already been lost in this war, and to continue this madness would only endanger more innocents."

"Forgive me for saying so, but I cannot but feel that your mission will end in failure before it has even begun."

Dieck's harsh words shocked everyone, including his fellow mercenaries. Guinevere was the first to recover, "Why do you feel that way?"

"War is not a game, princess," Dieck said. "War does not stop when the players decide to call it a draw. Lives have already been lost, blood feuds have already been sown, and vengeance has already been sworn. The unyielding willingness to fight has become an unstoppable force, picking up momentum with every soldier drafted and," Dieck shook his head, "every mercenary hired."

Guinevere was confused, "I understand that soldiers and vassals are subject to their lord's decision, but how do mercenaries...?"

"Every mercenary hired...?" Ellen asked, "But can't you decline..."

"It's not that simple!" Dieck barked, "I'm sorry if my words are harsh, but I only speak the truth. During times of peace, jobs for mercenaries and sell swords are only menial labor, which are often paid with low wages. Without an extremely generous patron, the average mercenary would be hard pressed to feed a small family. In war, the demand for extra soldiers skyrocket, forcing war leaders to outbid one another for reliable and efficient mercenaries. We are not out here for glory; our families depend upon us for survival! If we had a damn choice, we wouldn't be out here risking our life for a few bags of coins!"

"I... I'm sorry..." Ellen seemed to shrink, "I didn't know..."

"From the troubles you refer to," Guinevere said, "I assume you hail from Ilia?"

"Nay, most of my company is from the Western Isles off the coast of Etruria," Dieck said, "only Thany here is from Ilia."

"What Captain says is true," Thany said, all cheerfulness evaporated from her features. "With its infertile landscape, Ilia is almost completely a nation of mercenaries. If we didn't honor our contracts in return for money or supplies, our people would starve."

"The Isles are no better," Ward grunted, "Although there are rich mineral deposits throughout Fibernia and Caledonia, they are largely controlled by barons or bandits. Scratching out a living there is just as difficult for a large village."

The other mercenaries murmured their agreement. Vince, the swordsman who had visited Rosiar earlier, also put in his two cents. "All in all, the situation in the Isles isn't as bad as Ilia, since the land still possesses a few natural resources for us to harvest. However, if those tight-fisted barons keep up their stranglehold on those mines..."

"Then there's nothing we can do about it," Lott muttered.

"However, don't get us wrong about this," Dieck said. "In truth, none of us really want to stick our necks out for any ambition-hungry lord only out to make a name for himself. If there really was another solution to this mess, I'm all for packing up and going back to the villages."

"Peace," Guinevere murmured, "so earnestly sought, yet so difficult to obtain."

Lott sighed, "There are a thousand and one things that each of us want to do during peace time, but war has already drawn us into her fold. What I wouldn't give to go home and spend more time with Myu..."

"Your sister will hold up alright, bro," Ward gave Lott a hearty pat on the back. "I'm sure she'll be fine with Mary looking after her. Although," Ward gave Lott a calculated look, "if you make her wait too long, you know _my_ sister is going to give you the thrashing of your life!"

The normally calm and collected Lott colored at that. "Hey, Mary has nothing to do with this!"

The company got a hearty laugh out of that comment. Failing to hide her laughter behind her hands, Thany said, "Sure... Brother Ward, I know you picked out a..."

Lott was on the verge of panicking, "Thany please, have mercy on me, will you?"

"Alright, everyone knock it off," Dieck said with a grin. "We've wasted enough time here, so we best take off before those Bern soldiers skulking around Rosiar find us. Let's move out!"

"Aye, aye, Captain!"

"Damn it, Thany, what did I tell you about calling me 'Captain?' Call me Dieck!"

As the twenty-odd mercenaries prepared to leave their small base camp, Guinevere approached Dieck. Though heartened by the response she received from Dieck and his companions, Guinevere now fully comprehended the problematic route she had chosen.

_A path made more difficult by the lack of support I have with me, _Guinevere thought. More than once since her departure from Castle Bern, Guinevere found that she sorely missed the companionship that Miledy offered. At the very least, Miledy was a seasoned soldier that could counsel Guinevere regarding her plans.

"Dieck, from the manner of your speech, I can tell that you are not a normal mercenary," Guinevere began. "Are you willing to aid me in this endeavor?"

The mercenary captain looked up at those words, "Though my strength is limited, I am willing to fight for the world you dream of, milady. However, what you seek is not to be found in my hands."

"What do you mean?" Guinevere asked as Ellen joined her mistress.

"War cannot be stopped solely by words, princess," Dieck said. "War and peace advance hand in hand, where both strength and wisdom are required. In order for two conflicting nations to ceasefire, it often requires another, more powerful army to force the warring nations to reconcile. What you need is the strength of armies to defeat those that fight in this war."

"To answer violence with violence is hypocrisy," Guinevere protested.

"You are the Princess of Bern and the sister of King Zephiel, are you not?" Dieck asked back. "If words alone could halt the ambition of kings, why does Zephiel continue this mad war?"

"But Bern is acknowledged as the strongest military force in all Elibe," Ellen said, "where can there be found an army to counter Bern?"

"That I do not know," Dieck shook his head, "I was merely repeating the words of my old master."

"War and peace advance hand in hand, where both strength and wisdom are required?" Guinevere repeated. "Who was your old master? Did he hire mercenaries as well?"

"Nay, he was not, but I dare not reveal his identity, for fear the vultures of this age know of his existence," Dieck replied. "In dreaming of a peaceful Elibe, he was much like you, princess."

"I was surprised because I've heard similar words uttered by my mentor as well," Guinevere replied, "Master Xavier claimed that 'peace shall come only when a culling flame that burns brighter than all others can extinguish the lesser, bickering embers.' Perchance my mentor knew your master in the past?"

"Xavier?" Dieck shook his head, "It may be possible that they were acquaintances or studied under the same teacher in the past. However, I have not heard of your teacher before."

"Hey, Dieck, I think we might have a problem!"

Dieck glanced towards Lott, "What is it?"

"You might want to come here and take a look at this..."

Frowning, Dieck pushed forward through his comrades and trees until he was beyond the forest. Before him lay the remnants of a small skirmish; several dead men were littered across the plains.

As well as two dozen lances pointed towards Dieck and his companions.

"Identify yourselves," the leader, a knight in crimson armor, declared.

_

* * *

_

Rude frowned as his men continued to pile the stolen valuables into the town square. Planning to capitalize on the war by pillaging nearby towns, Rude was frustrated by one small technicality that he had not thought upon: Rosiar was a backwater town. The townships situated around Castle Brient were little more than small villages with little material goods and few valuable items. Once again, Rude cursed his luck for being assigned to a remote station. Arguably, the duties were lax due to the low traffic through the Bern Mountains, but that also severely decreased his ability to fill his coffers with gold.

Compared to the paltry amount of loot gleaned from Rosiar, Rude was much more interested with the retrieval of Princess Guinevere. Bern offered thousands of gold coins in reward for her safe return, though any foreign country at war with Bern might just as well pay more. A princess of royal blood would prove to be a useful hostage, an advantage that Lycia or Etruria may be willing to pay significant sums for obtain. After distributing a motley amongst his followers, Rude would be able to keep the lion's share for himself, guaranteeing an early retirement to spend the rest of his life in luxury.

_If only those damn idiots would hurry up and bring back our golden prize._

Rude glared at a silver teapot lay on the ground when one of his men had carelessly discarded it. Reaching down, he grabbed the item from the floor, rubbing the dirt from its smooth surface. Upon its creamy white surface, Rude could see a reflection of his furious scowl etched upon it.

"Mitch! Have the boys come back yet?" Rude roared.

Mitch, Rude's second-in-command, lumbered up and saluted before speaking. "Not yet, sir! They've been gone for roughly three candle marks, so we expect them back any moment now, sir!"

"Three candle marks? Pack of worthless fools," Rude smashed the silver teapot in his fists. "How long does it take to bring back one defenseless woman?"

"But, sir," Mitch said, "is she really worth all this effort? Is the crown seriously going to pay us a fat reward...?"

"Have you read the dispatches detailing the rewards?"

"No, sir," Mitch said, "I apologize, but I can't read."

_Feh, I should've remembered that, _Rude thought, _the boy did come from a rather lowly background._

Despite the apparent prosperity in Elibe, the majority of the population was quite illiterate. Particularly in Sacae, where stories and sagas were passed down through word of mouth or songs, and many rural areas of more 'civilized' nations, the common man was not able to read or write. Education, a privilege reserved for those that could afford it, was often denied to peasants or farmers. In urban areas, such as cities or larger townships, schooling was made more available due to public services aiming to educate the masses. It was not wholly uncommon for a peasant to work six days of the week and visit the local town to attend school on the seventh. In Bern, where daily farming was already straining to meet the demands of the people, many families opted to abandon education and concentrate on survival. Mitch was the result of one of those families.

"Let me enlighten you then, Mitch," Rude said as he pulled the man closer before whispering in a conspiring tone. "In Bern, the reward for Princess Guinevere is five thousand, boy. _Five thousand shiny gold coins!_ After dolling out one thousand for the men, we could split the remainder, leaving nearly two thousand for each of us!"

Mitch's eyes were dancing with greed, "Ah, I see..."

"However," Rude frowned, "we best not let the men know the size of the reward, understand? If they knew the whole extent of the loot, they may be clamoring for equal division of the money, which would drastically reduce the amount we receive. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Uh huh," Mitch said, "my lips are sealed, Captain!"

_Well, he certainly doesn't need to know that Etruria would probably be willing pay ten thousand, leaving seven thousand for myself... _Rude smirked slightly before speaking again, "Head back to your patrol, Mitch, and let me know the instant the boys return."

"Yes, sir!"

"Make way, make way!" A voice shouted from the other side of the town square. "I must speak with Sir Rude immediately!"

Mitch raised an eyebrow, "Well, speak of the devil, they've already brought back the princess... Wait, I don't see Princess Guinevere...?"

When the soldiers arrived before Rude and Mitch, however, the group bore signs of vicious battle. Only half of the men Rude sent out had returned, and many of them were wounded or missing weapons and armor. Livid, Rude demanded an answer.

"We were attacked, Captain!" One of the soldiers reported, "Two leagues yonder, we were set upon by a score of horsemen bearing lances. There was no way in hell we could've stood up to mounted cavalry with the numbers we had! The only thing we could do was run as fast as our little legs could carry us!"

"Cavalry?" Rude asked, "Someone else from Bern is after our reward?"

"They weren't from Bern, Captain! Most of them wore blue armor, and every one of those bastards bore a shield with a white falcon on it!"

"Pherae's Order of the Talon..." Rude paled, "What the devil are they doing here?"

"Damned if I know..."

"Wyverns! Wyverns are coming east by southeast!" One of Rude's sentries screamed in warning.

Rude whirled around. Sure enough, a cloud of beating wings was rapidly approaching Rosiar.

_They must be the princess' pursuers from the capital! If word gets out that we failed to retrieve the princess after letting her slip through our fingers..._

Rude took a deep breath before turning back to the soldiers in front of him. "Alright boys, get that booty out of sight. Now this is what we are going to do..."

_

* * *

_

Ostia's defenses largely consisted of two layers of high walls. The outer wall, dubbed the Iron Curtain, protected the city of Ostia. The inner wall, known as Siege's End, was designed to shield Castle Ostia itself. Though the Iron Curtain still allowed the populace to enter or leave the city at will, Siege's End remained shut until either Hector or Lilina returned. General Leygance, as regent during Hector's absence, had doubled the available fighting force by recently acquiring quite a few mercenary units. During the uneasy, seesaw war with Bern, heightened security was considered to be well within the general's duty.

However, with the majority of Ostia's armored knights already on the warfront at Araphen, Ostia itself became overly crowded with the incursion of refugees and mercenaries. The refugees largely came from the eastern portions of Lycia to escape the advancing Bern armies, seeking shelter behind the 'impregnable' walls of the Iron Curtain. As large numbers of immigrants began filling the hotels and inns of Ostia, the few remaining constables were hard-pressed to keep the peace. Faced with the prospect of raucous rioting, Leygance delegated the policing task to the mercenaries he had hired. Mercenaries, originally hired by Leygance to become reinforcements bound for Araphen, became peacekeepers in Ostia instead.

The sudden influx of foreign refugees naturally created a dangerous change in demography, and the heightened tension of a war footing did not help. Every day, disputes and outbursts erupted somewhere in Ostia, with the mercenaries often abusing their power when asserting control. The crime level began to rise rapidly, especially since the policing mercenaries could be bribed to look the other way. Only accepting jobs for pay, few mercenary bands possessed the delicate notions of honor that Ostian knights carried themselves with.

The abysmal skills and discipline of these new mercenaries reflected the minute amount of coin that Leygance paid them. It is common sense that well-paid mercenaries are nearly equivalent to professional soldiers, as proven by the knights and pegasus riders of Ilia. In memory of his wife, Hector had employed a company of elite Ilian cavaliers shortly before his departure for Araphen. Led by an experienced and battle-hardened knight named Zealot, this group of Ilian knights proved to be uncommonly skilled and well-disciplined compared to the other rabble in Ostia.

Zealot, however, was not content to remain a constable.

Garbed in white armor and brushing a hand through his messy black hair, Zealot sighed in frustration as he leaned against the doorway leading to the _Buck's Horn_. Since his company of fifty cavaliers into Ostia, Zealot had lodged his men at the _Buck's Horn_ with Ostia footing the bill. Though spacious, tidy and clean, the _Buck's Horn_ did not offer Zealot any chance of battle. While lesser men would've be more than happy to enjoy the tumultuous peace in Ostia, Zealot never forgot the day Ilia's armies were defeated at the Battle of Edessa. As a knight in exile, Zealot regularly dreamed of returning home at the head of an army to liberate his homeland. His only hope of fulfilling this dream was in Lycia, the only country that would accept his services. Bern was out of the question, Sacae had fallen, Ilia had surrendered, and Etruria hosted its own standing army, leaving Lycia the only choice. Yet while his patron, Hector of Ostia, was waging a life and death struggle at Araphen, Zealot was locked inside Ostia with no means of leaving the city.

Not that Zealot lacked in trying. Every few days, Zealot paid a visit to General Leygance and begged for permission to depart the city for the fighting around Araphen. Though Leygance allowed civilians to freely enter or leave Ostia, he insisted on keeping all available fighting men inside its walls. Leygance had maintained that Ostia, as the leader of Lycia, cannot be caught without sufficient forces to defend its walls. Based on this, Leygance adamantly refused Zealot's petition to strike out for Araphen. Thus, all that remained for Zealot was to sit around and wait with the rest of his men.

The majority of his company did not sit well with inactivity either. As knights of Ilia, they shared Zealot's dreams for their homeland. As sell swords in contract with Hector, they also felt that their proper place was in the thick of the fighting around Araphen. In order to vent their frustrations and urge to fight, many of the younger knights regularly visited the Ostian arena. At the very least, the arena provided a suitable target to thrash without exciting excessive trouble.

A select few, like the blond-haired knight named Treck, chose to sleep on their troubles. However, Treck was the _only_ knight that Zealot knew that could fall asleep anywhere and at any time. The few times that Zealot caught the chronic-sleeper awake, Treck was either speaking gibberish or talking about his passion for fishing. On the other hand, Treck was a steady sword and a stern lance in battle, so Zealot allowed a few of his eccentricities.

Falling asleep on his feet in the middle of the lobby was not one of them.

Catching the tottering cavalier, Zealot gave Treck a rough shake to snap the fool awake. "Treck, I swear to St. Elimine that sometimes you are more trouble than you're worth."

"Mmh?" Treck rubbed his eyes sleepily, "I'm sorry, Commander. I just can't seem to stay awake."

"Well, that's certainly a novel idea," Zealot said sarcastically, "Next time, if you need to rest somewhere, at least find a more secluded location, OK? Your appearance and behavior would make others think less of Ilian knights."

"So sorry, C-Commander," Treck yawned again.

"Not that they think much of us in the first place, Commander," a knight named Noah said as he descended the stairs of the _Buck's Horn_. "What's the value of knights who've already lost their country?"

Where Treck was sloppy and unkempt, Noah was efficient and organized. The two knights had fought alongside one another in half a hundred battles, each proving his valor and skill many times over. The telling difference was that Treck preferred to meander through life at his own pace, while Noah strived to live life to the fullest. Despite their opposing personalities, the two knights forged a fierce bond of comradeship. Contrary to what others might think, Noah believed that underneath Treck's indolent and lazy exterior laid an individual with keen insight and profound wisdom. In Noah's opinion, Treck was just _reluctant _to show that side of him.

Treck's eyes flashed briefly when he heard Noah's words. "Noah, best not be talking in such a manner. Commander was right to reprimand me, but your words are against the Code."

The Code referred to the Mercenary Code of Ilia, a regulation of conduct that all knights and pegasus riders of Ilia obeyed without question. The Code outlined the requirements and actions befitting a mercenary of Ilia and is the core document that governs the relationship between Ilia and would-be patrons for their forces. First and foremost in the Code was the article concerning an Ilian mercenary's responsibilities to their homeland. Article I of the Mercenary Code states that under no circumstances is an Ilian allowed to defame or dishonor their homeland. The brave men and women who fight for Ilia's future hold their mission as a sacred objective, not something to be ridiculed as a lost cause.

Noah had the grace to look abashed, "I apologize, Commander. That comment was completely out of line."

"Apology accepted," Zealot said, "though I understand the task set before us may be daunting at times. I found myself saying similar things when I lost Edessa to Bern. Be that as it may, the dream of an independent and self-sufficient Ilia survives through the actions of every Ilian knight. See that those melancholy thoughts are wiped from your heart, Noah."

"Of course, Commander," Noah said, "I'm off to grab a bite soon, want me to bring you guys anything?"

"Oh, and Noah," Zealot said, "There is one more thing I'd like to tell you and Treck."

Treck looked ready to go back to sleep, "What is it, Commander?"

Zealot took a deep breath, "I've received confirmation that Grant and his entire company were killed in action during the Battle of Bulgar. He was slain by a Kutolah myrmidon while fighting for Bern."

"By St. Elimine," Treck was now fully awake, "Grant is gone too?"

"Grant, Casis, Sigune," Noah counted off his fingers, "by the gods, Bern does not take care of its mercenaries very well. I think only Siekes' group still marches with Bern?"

"They were probably used as shock troops to minimize losses in the primary Bern army," Zealot said bitterly. "Not since the days of the Pact of Windcrest did entire Ilian mercenary groups lie slain upon the battlefield. Nevertheless, the premium pay they received could've gone a long way in feeding the people back home. There's no wonder they would take the risk so long as they weren't fighting Ilia itself."

"Funny, isn't it?" Noah's tone was just as bitter, "while we are stuck here in Ostia, our countrymen are fighting under the opposing banner and bringing home the badly needed supplies. They at least are granted a clean, honorable death, but we are planted here to rot!"

"Hark," Treck held up a hand, "what's that noise I hear?"

A small procession of Ostian knights was marching down the streets of Ostia with a veiled carriage in the middle of them. Bearing the seal of Ostia on its sides, the carriage rolled over the cobblestones as it drew closer to Castle Ostia. What made the people cheer, though, was the young lady that occasionally peeked out from behind the curtains.

Zealot turned to the innkeeper of the _Buck's Horn_. "Hey, man, what's the row all about? Who's going to Castle Ostia?"

The innkeeper looked at Zealot as if he sprouted horns. "What, are ye blind or deaf? If ye be blind, cock your pretty ears and listen to the cheering!"

Sure enough, a growing throng of Ostians was marching behind the carriage. From their lips, they were chanting one name over and over again.

_"Lilina! Lilina! Lilina!"_

Hope drew the masses to her just as the prospect of battle ignited once more in Zealot's heart.

_

* * *

_

Castle Ostia was not known as the Impregnable Castle for no reason. The walls of Siege's End were twenty feet thick at its narrowest point, with a tower every hundred yards along its length. The only gate in and out of Castle Ostia was fortified with two portcullises along with a stout oaken drawbridge. The moat surrounding the castle was ten yards deep, and, unlike the other castles in Elibe, not half-filled with all manners of debris and trash. Several siege engines, including three rotating trebuchets, were prepared to answer any opposing siege weapon with shots of their own. Add in the half a dozen murder holes above this formidable gate and uncountable number of murder holes along the wall, Castle Ostia laughed at any foolish invader who thought they could sack this castle at will.

Inside the walls, the castle was an exemplary model of a fortress and home rolled into one. Heavily fortified with three keeps instead of the standard one, the extra bastions served to assist in the defense as well as storage for supplies. Atop the three keeps was a trio of interconnecting sky bridges, enabling access to and fro the towers with ease. Naturally, this facilitated transportation and defense for anyone who resided within, but any would-be besiegers are rendered unable to do anything.

Housed inside these defenses, the inhabitants lived in a peaceful frugality. Unlike the extravagance and wastefulness practiced by the majority of Elibe, Ostians took pride in their thrifty and honest lifestyle. One of the principle reasons why Ostia was able to maintain such a large number of competent, efficient and brave knights was because their extra stipends and resources could be allocated to military matters. A more luxurious marquess may devote so much money into his personal living quarters that his coffers were not able to pay for any defenders instead. Learning from the over-burdened budget plans of their neighbors, Ostia wisely followed its centuries' old custom of forbearance.

Leygance, Hector's second-in-command, did not share the simple ways of his countrymen. Though born an Ostian, Leygance was raised in a rich merchant family that, more likely than not, purchased its title as a lower nobility. The lower or minor nobles were largely peasants or merchants that rose to peerage, but were never formally accepted by their counterparts who have been nobles by blood. Considered to be inferior to houses of lineage, lower nobles were beset upon all sides, both commoner and nobles. Commoners derided them for trying to climb above the rest, and the true nobles sneered at the pitiful attempt to climb the social hierarchy. As such, Leygance's family spent a fortune currying favor for acceptance. In their attempts to solicit approval, the family was met with derision and laughter rather than welcome and cheer.

Leygance, however, was not content to remain an underdog forever. Using his tact and keen mind as a merchant's son, Leygance shot through the ranks with remarkable speed. The tasks he could do were done meticulously, and the mistakes he made were covered with a choice bribe or two. Lord Uther saw Leygance's official record as potential to become an apt administrator, but also recognized the man's thirst for ambition and fulfillment. As such, Leygance was rewarded with the rank of knight commander and assistant manager of Ostia, but was never allowed free rein during Uther's reign.

Leygance's promotion came with the ascension of Lord Hector. Hector, though widely regarded as a superior tactician and fighter compared to his brother, did not possess the same tact as a diplomat or political moderator. Seeing Leygance toil successfully under Uther's command, Hector came to rely more and more on Leygance as a domestic administrator. Raised to the rank of general, Leygance was named Regent of Ostia until Lilina came of age. Though Leygance's father died before seeing his son rise to the rank of general, Leygance successfully learned the lesson that money and bribes spread in the right direction were the keys to everything.

At the age of forty, Leygance had already reached the peak of his career as the son of a minor noble. For an ambitious individual such as he, the rank of general and the regency were insufficient to satisfy him for long, but any further advancement was denied to him. No matter how skilled or efficient Leygance could be, the fact remained that Hector was the undisputable master of Ostia. Rough-mannered and ferocious as he was, Hector dearly loved his people and they reciprocated that feeling with undying loyalty. Lilina, as Hector's daughter, would ascend the throne of Ostia in due time with the full backing of the people as well. At the remarkably young age of fifteen, Lilina was already showing signs of surpassing her father as a ruler. By the time she became leader of Ostia, there would be little to no need for Leygance as a public servant.

Nor was there any path available for Leygance in the military. Many conscripts for the Ostian knights were drawn from the second or third sons of true nobles, sons that had no inheritance to share due to the primogeniture rule of society. As a minor noble, Leygance would never be able to command their loyalty and obedience when they looked down upon him as an upstart. To compound this difficulty, Hector had already handpicked a group of knights to act as commanders. Within this group, only Devias was Leygance's old subordinate and could be trusted. The others, such as Barth and Bors, remained inflexible and bowed only to the command of Lord Hector or Lady Lilina.

_Which cannot be helped until the populace stabilizes after the marriage, _Leygance thought as he exited his fabulously decorated office. Outside the door, two knights clicked to attention before falling into step behind him. Descending the multitude of stairs, Leygance arrived at the bottom of the keep, turning left towards the gates of Castle Ostia. Along the way, Leygance signaled for Devias of the 8th Knight Squad to bring his men. Devias, seeing the hand motion, barked out an order and approached Leygance near the gates.

"What are your orders, milord?" Devias, a large knight in his mid-forties, drawled out."

Leygance inwardly cringed, "Watch your mouth, Devias. I am no lord, and another word out of you could get me in serious trouble with the locals and land you with a court martial. Best keep a tight lid on it, you hear me?"

Devias gulped, "Crystal clear, sir!"

Leygance looked around, "Where is Lady Lilina? My aide informed me that she was in Ostia half a candle mark ago."

"Ah, begging your pardon, sir," Devias said, "but Lady Lilina always visits her mother after returning from a journey. She's probably in there now."

Leygance blinked before mentally kicking himself. How could he have forgotten? Every time Lilina returns home, she makes a small detour to visit the sole painting of her mother in Ostia. Hanging in Lord Hector's room, the painting depicted a young Ilian girl gently stroking the mane of a pegsus while shyly looking forward. Leygance had seen the painting on numerous occasions, but never really understood what Lord Hector saw in the frail, timid little thing. Rumors hold that Lord Hector had adventured with her in the past and became deeply enamored with her throughout the quest. From Leygance's recollection, the orchid-haired woman had passed away five years ago due to fever.

"Is that so?" Leygance sighed, "Devias, get a few of your men to assemble the others for Lady Lilina's welcome. You bring several of your men and come with me."

The tall, hawkish general turned abruptly on his heel before stalking towards the White Keep, residence of the Ostian marquess. In reference to its rather shoddy foundation design, Uther had jokingly named it the White Keep, the keep that would surrender immediately without a fight due to its poor defenses. The minor technicality was that the keep was _never_ attacked due to the formidability of the city's defenses. Nevertheless, its lacking foundation was built over the remains of a hot spring, which provided adequate heating throughout the year for the marquess' lodgings. A rare exception to Ostia's customary frugality, the natural heating was the only luxury afforded to the marquess.

It was in Hector's room on the top floor where Leygance found Lilina kneeling before her mother's painting. The young girl was only attended by Sir Bors and two of her hand maidens. Bors, ever vigilant, remained on duty next to the open door and initially challenged Leygance's approach until he recognized the general. Acquiescing with ill grace, the knight allowed Leygance to enter the room.

Although Leygance theoretically outranked the guard, he was also on an ill footing with the other knight commanders. Bors and his comrades were distrustful of a general who earned his rank through talking rather than proving his worth in battle. The only exception, Devias, has long been in Leygance's service since the general had entered Uther's service nearly twenty years ago. Devias had, owing to Leygance's influential position, climbed the ladders of command in the military arena but also earned the enmity of Barth and Bors for his close standing with Leygance. Naturally, the feelings of the commanders reflected the mentality of their subordinates. Every so often, a scuffle would break out amongst the men whose loyalties were with different masters. When Uther or Hector was about, all was quiet; when they were gone, the daggers would come out.

"Milady," Leygance said cautiously, "are you alright?"

Lilina turned around. Recognizing Leygance, Lilina smiled in greeting, "Greetings, General Leygance. What prompted you to come here?"

"I am here only to extend my greetings, milady," Leygance bowed.

"As you can see, I'm perfectly fine," Lilina said.

"Of course, milady," Leygance said, "I assume that you wish to resume the regency at once?"

"Regency… Well, I suppose so…" Lilina stammered, "However, I am woefully ignorant of the situation in Ostia."

"I am most willing to supply you with any information you require, milady," Leygance said.

"Thank you, General Leygance," Lilina said, "your assistance would be most helpful. Except…"

"Except…?"

"Except I do not understand why Ostia needs such a large number of mercenaries within its walls," Lilina frowned. "Along the way to the castle, I counted nearly half a dozen mercenary companies?"

Leygance's eyes widened briefly. "Well, yes, Lady Lilina. I took the liberty to employ mercenaries for the security of Ostia. With the new flood of refugees into the capital, the public safety is endangered by the cultural mix, milady."

"Yet, Sir Barth is still in Ostia with his retinue of knights and squires in training," Lilina asked, confused by Leygance's answer. "Now that I have returned with Bors, Ostia will have nearly eighty armored knights and half a hundred squires. What need is there for more mercenaries?"

"These mercenaries are to be dispatched to the Araphen front immediately," Leygance said with a disarming smile. "Now that you have returned to the castle, there is no longer any need for them to stay here. Don't you agree, Devias?"

Devias blinked before nodding in agreement, "Ah, indeed it is so, milady. They're already prepared to move out."

"Are they really?" Bors' voice echoed into the room as he looked in from the doorway. "How are they supposed to arrive at Araphen, General Leygance?"

"Whatever do you mean, Sir Bors?" Leygance replied.

"What I refer to is the complete lack of supplies in this city, general," Bors said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "On the way here, I spoke with my sister, Wendy. She was complaining about the absurd prices for food in Ostia. With so many mouths to feed in the city, the price for provisions has skyrocketed. If that is the case, then where did you find the supplies for the mercenaries, general? Why have you employed mercenaries under your own name rather than Lord Hector? Answer me!"

"The tone you address me with," Leygance said, "is completely unacceptable."

Bors stomped his way in front of Leygance, putting himself between Lilina and the general. Leveling his lance at Leygance's face, Bors said softly, "Answer the question, general. I was charged with Lady Lilina's safety, and I will not hesitate to strike down any t-"

Before Bors could finish his sentence, Leygance had already knocked aside his lance with an armored glove. Stepping inside the wielding distance of a lance, Leygance grabbed Bors by the throat before smashing him into the wall like a rag doll. Before the stunned knight could gather himself, Leygance finished the brief battle with a solid knee into Bors' stomach. The furious impact rattled through Bors' plate mail, and the knight toppled over with a groan.

"…not hesitate to strike down any traitors, right Bors?" Leygance spat contemptuously at the unconscious knight. "You and your rabble have long underestimated me, and it is about time I put you in your place. Devias, send this armored hulk to the dungeons!"

"As you order," Devias waved a hand towards two of his men. The two of them hauled the insensible Bors out of the room with the respect they'd shown to an animal's carcass.

Lilina paled, "General Leygance, what is the meaning of this?"

"It appears that your bodyguard was too observant for his own good, Lady Lilina," Leygance sneered. "Nonetheless, he acted too impulsively and threatened a superior officer, an offense that he could hang for."

"My father will hang you if what Bors suspects is true," Lilina declared, trying to keep up a brave face but falling to pieces inside.

"Lord Hector," Leygance said, "may not even survive against the odds he is facing at the moment. Outnumbered nearly three to one against the finest war machine Elibe has to offer? I daresay those odds are quite pitiful."

"Not quite as pitiful as yours, sir!" One of Lilina's hand maids shouted defiantly.

"Oh, really?" Leygance snorted, "I am sorry to say that Lord Hector's situation has become significantly more, shall we say, improbable after Pherae _treacherously _annihilated the supply caravan sent to Araphen."

"Uncle Eliwood and Roy would never do such a thing!" Lilina shouted, "My father and I can trust them with our lives!"

"I even have a witness," Leygance continued, dismissing Lilina's reply with a wave. "Enter, Sir Ananias of House Milrun, and report your experience to Lady Lilina if you please."

A bedraggled young knight stumbled into the room. Throwing a haphazard salute towards Leygance, Ananias bowed to Lilina. "Ananias Milrun, captain of the escort bound for Araphen, reporting for duty, sir!"

"Report your findings to Lady Lilina," Leygance said.

"Ah, milady, what a terrible disaster has befallen us! While I was escorting the caravan to Araphen, we were set upon by those bastards from Pherae! The mercenary guards shamelessly aided them, forcing my fellow knights and I to fight for our lives! With thoughts of your loveliness in my mind, I…"

"Enough," Lilina said.

"…I threw down half a dozen mercenaries and…"

"Enough!" Lilina shouted, "I will hear no more of your filthy lies!"

"But milady…?" Ananias looked bewildered, "General, you said that she would believe…"

"Silence, you fool!" Leygance roared, "Devias, if the boy makes another sound, gag him!"

Lilina stared at Leygance's haughty expression, "Now I know your true face, General Leygance. Take your despicable companions and leave here at once!"

Leygance smirked, "As you wish, milady. However, with Pherae breaching the Lycian Covenant, corrective measures must be made."

"Nothing will be done to Pherae," Lilina said venomously. "You liars could not convince your own mothers of your truthfulness. Now be gone!"

"Careful, girl," Leygance said, "beware of crossing me. With these mercenaries, I control this castle and all of Ostia. Best think about your circumstances before throwing orders at me. Otherwise, you might even hurt you delicate tendencies." With that, Leygance turned sharply on his heel with Devias on his heels, dragging Ananias from the room. Behind them, Lilina dissolved into tears while her hand maidens tried in vain to calm her.

"General," Devias said, "what are your orders?"

"Everything is proceeding to plan," Leygance said, "I retain command while keeping Lady Lilina locked within the White Keep. Have the mercenaries kept to their tasks; I will have need of them to maintain the public order."

"Yes, sir," Devias said, "but what do you want to be done of him?" He pointed towards Ananias.

"Keep him alive for the moment," Leygance said, "I will need his testimony when I confront Pherae and the rest of the Council."

"Assuming any of them is still alive after the sacking of Araphen," Devias chortled.

"Why of course they will survive," Leygance pretended to be shocked, "How difficult could it be to avoid fire-breathing dragons?"

* * *

_After a fierce grappling with this chapter after finals, a trip to Reno, massive Christmas and New Year's celebrations, Chapter 2 has finally been submitted. I humbly apologize for this long and tedious delay. Please bear with me and thank you for reading!_  



	4. Fate of Armads

_Author's Corner:_

_I apologize for the horrendous delay this chapter became. An unfortunate combination of classes, computer issues, and my ongoing illness was the cause of the weeklong delay. After this, I promise that updating will resume its original course and actually happen every 2-3 weeks._

_

* * *

_

**Legacy of Valshannar – Chapter 3**

**Fate of Armads**

"The enemy has passed through the main gates!"

"Route the 3rd and 17th Infantry Squads to hold the gates and drive those Bern bastards out of here!"

The bombardment of Castle Araphen ended when Bern siege engines shattered the main gates. Taking advantage of the heavy support fire from the trebuchets and catapults, several teams of Bern siege specialists worked at overcoming the castle's fortifications. Employing infantry divisions to lend aid to their projects, the siege engineers filled the castle moat with rubbish and boulders. Any tower within an arrow's flight of the siege engineers was reduced to rubble by a quintet of trebuchets. Next, they directed strong and able men to hammer away at Castle Araphen's gates with a battering ram. To prevent the Lycians from setting fire to the ram, the crafty Bern soldiers nailed wet animal skins to the outside, conveniently preventing any fire-starting attempts from succeeding. With the defenders unable to lift a finger to stop them, the besiegers bashed open the gates in one morning, clearing the way for Bern's numerically superior force to storm inside.

As soon as the gates fell away, team after team of Bern heavy cavalry storm through the ruined gates to secure a foothold within the castle interior. Heavily armored knights astride stallions that weighed a ton were formidable opponents for the unorganized Lycian defenders, especially when the Bern cavalry nearly matched Lycia's manpower man-to-man. Behind them, a horde of infantry and men-at-arms were ready to mop up anything their cavalry failed to destroy. Covered head to toe in heavy mail, the infantry brandished heavy axes and long swords as they eagerly waited their turn to charge. Overhead, Bern's wyvern corps was marshalling for a charge to scatter the defenders on the walls. At the rear, the various siege engines stopped their relentless fire, fearing that they would accidentally strike their allies. Granted, Bern's overwhelming advantage in numbers could withstand a little friendly fire, but Dragon General who commanded the siege, Brenya, was loath to sacrifice lives needlessly.

However, resistance was stout within the battered gates. Despite the food shortages, the sagging morale, and the lack of coordination amongst its leaders, the Lycian defenders fought back with a strength that vindicated their status as the Lycian elite. With the exceptions of Lancel of Araphen and Dolon of Tuscany, the various lords in Araphen were no cowards. Led by Marquess Sarpedon and Sir Pandarus, the Lycians fought tooth and claw to prevent the Bern army from bringing their superior numbers into play. Camped around the entrance to the ruined gates, the defenders holed up the invaders in the narrow gates, only allowing a manageable number to pass through at a time. Every Lycian within knew quite well that should Bern establish a foothold within the castle, their superior numbers would quickly turn the battle into a rout. With their homes, beloved families, sacred honor, and precious lives at stake, the defenders beat back every foray the enemy army made. Bodies of both friend and foe lay haphazardly underfoot, trodden upon by soldiers of both armies in the desperate struggle for victory.

Yet the stalemate could not be continued indefinitely. After two candle marks of bitter fighting, the remaining Lycians were beginning to tire from the strenuous effort. Many brave soldiers and mercenaries perished beneath the merciless blades of the advancing Bern army, never to see their homes again. Gradually, despite their valiant efforts, the besieged suffocated due to the number of enemy troops. The remaining soldiers were fighting in desperation, hoping beyond hope that deliverance would arrive.

"Knights of Ostia, Brotherhood of the Steel Tower, rally to me!"

Deliverance came in the form of reinforcements led by none other than Lord Hector himself. Charging into the midst of the Bern's forces, Hector's tall form bulled aside his enemies in a flash. Behind him, the stalwart knights of Ostia, chosen defenders of the Steel Tower of Ostia, strove valiantly to keep up with their liege lord's furious pace. Finishing off any foe that Hector missed in his blitzkrieg strike, the Ostian knights cleaved a bloody path that tore the Bern ranks into two halves. Confusion ran amok through the Bern ranks when they found themselves beset by foes on multiple sides. Taking advantage of Hector's timely assistance, Marquess Sarpedon and Pandarus of Thria rallied the defenders in a furious effort to drive the invaders from Castle Araphen.

Though the battle was momentarily tipped in Lycia's favor, it did not remain so for long. The knights and warriors of Bern were tried and tested soldiers that had fought countless battles and did not bow to defeat so easily. Gathering themselves in a remarkable effort to rally their lines, the iron discipline within the Bern ranks quickly quelled the shock from Hector's charge. Despite the disadvantage of fighting with a hundred Ostian knights separating their army into two pieces, the Bern army maintained its composure and gave as good as it got, strewing the floor with the bodies of friend and foe. However, they once again underestimated the resourcefulness of Lycia's greatest knights.

"Caelin, at ready... _Now_!"

Two score pointed shafts zipped their way into the backs of the Bern warriors. As several of them turned to look, they were greeted with another volley of arrows. The few that managed to appraise the situation saw nearly forty archers, with arrows notched and ready, firing from atop the battlements. What gave the soldiers pause were the dozen or so knights that were heaving away at the threshold of the gate with crowbar and ax. The threshold of the gate was decorated with a large precipice that overlooked the main gates. If the precipice fell, it could bury a considerable number of Bern soldiers in its descent. Seeing the danger, half a dozen ax-wielding warriors sprinted for the stairways, intent on stopping the knights. Halfway up the stairs, they were met by a lone knight garbed in green.

"He's only one man, rush him!" One of the warriors screamed.

The green knight cracked a predatory smile, "_Only_ one man? I may not be Lord Hector, but I will have you know that Sain of Caelin is more than a match for any dozen of you! En guarde!"

The six Bern soldiers were not prepared for the veritable tornado of sword blows Sain unleashed. Caught off guard at the knight's ferocity and handicapped by the narrow passageway, the warriors tried to push forward and grapple with the knight, but were hewn down one by one. Toppling over the side of the stairway, the dead men crashed messily onto their comrades below. Several of them managed to score glancing blows upon the Caelin knight, but were then hacked down by Sain's counterattack.

"Alright, boys, heave!" Sain called out, "Heave with all your damn strength!"

Grunting with exertion, the Caelin knights doubled their efforts to topple the fortifications atop the battlement. If given enough time, those knights could seal the entryway with an avalanche of falling stone and debris, cutting off the flow of enemy reinforcements from the outside. This would buy the defenders precious time to eliminate the foes within while the foes without would have to unblock the passageway. With fatigue sapping at the strength of the defenders, any respite would be sorely welcome.

With a final groan of protest, the masonry gave way to the pressure exerted by the knights. The overhanging ledge of stone was separated completely from the battlements, allowing the precipice to tilt over onto the Bern soldiers below. The falling bits of masonry alerted a few to the imminent danger, but the majority of the soldiers below were blissfully unaware of the falling rocks that were about to bury them alive.

The ragged survivors of the Lycian defenders cheered as the ruined gates were sealed in a shower of rock and stone. Galvanized by Caelin's example, Marquess Sarpedon led the charge that broke the Bern soldiers still trapped in Castle Araphen. With Pandarus on the left, Hector smashing through the middle, and Sain bringing fresh reinforcements from the walls, the Bern foray was doomed. With the tables radically turned upon them, the trapped besiegers gradually yielded their hold on this world, albeit taking many lives with them in the process.

When the dust settled, of the two hundred Bern soldiers that actually passed through the gates of Castle Araphen, only twenty captives were still alive, the rest were underfoot. Though temporarily victorious, Lycia paid for its victory with the lives of at least one hundred men-at-arms. Castle Araphen was once more emptied of foes, though the Bern soldiers outside were already hammering away at the debris, intent on clearing the path and resuming the battle.

Hector leaned wearily on his ax as he surveyed the Lycian soldiers trying to remove the dead. This battle had cost no few lives, and the mid afternoon sun indicated that there were quite a few candle marks left for another brawl. _How many men here will return to see their homes and loved ones?_ Hector thought.

"Lord Hector, a word if you please?"

Hector snapped out of his thoughts. Turning around, he barely recognized Pandarus, Sarpedon, and Sain in their blood-coated armor. It was only after they had removed their war helms did Hector catch a glimpse of their exhausted faces.

"The day is ours, Lord Hector," Pandarus said, his youthful features pale due to the exertion of the day. "Castle Araphen is devoid of enemies for the moment."

"But not for long, Sir Pandarus," Sarpedon grunted, "I believe Bern is itching to get back at us as soon as possible. If worse comes to worse, Bern will open up its bombardment again to break open the main gates again. I'm not sure how long morale would hold in the face of another bombardment."

"Morale is relatively high thanks to our recent victory of Bern," Sain reported, "I'd say we can handle another bombardment, but I'm more worried about the supplies. We cannot handle a long siege with our limited resources."

"That won't happen, Sain," Hector said gruffly, "Bern was stung by our retaliation, and they'll be looking to even the score. Mark my words, they'll want to continue this battle into the night if need be."

"That will alleviate our long term concerns," Sarpedon said, "though if we continue to make the enemy lose two for every one of ours, Zephiel might find us too indigestible for his ambition."

"You've read my mind, Marquess Sarpedon. Towards that end, Sain, do you have a tally for the losses?" Hector asked.

Sain grimaced. "It wasn't pretty, I'll say that first. We managed to put down nearly two hundred Bern troops at a cost of around one hundred and thirty of ours. Besides soldiers, the fortifications and ballista platforms on the battlements are a wreck. It took a great deal of time and effort to drive off those pesky wyverns, milord. If they were a little more persistent, I might not have been able to reinforce you."

Pandarus nodded, "Any chance of beating those wyverns back with what we've got, Sir Sain?"

"Slim to none, Sir Pandarus," Sain replied, "We might take strew the plains with wyvern carcasses and dead knights, but we can't stop them. We can only make them pay dearly for the victory."

"And that," Hector interrupted, "is precisely how we are going to win this battle."

The other three knights looked at one another before turning to look at Hector. "We can actually win this impossible battle?"

"_We_ cannot win this battle," Hector said, "but Lycia can still benefit from this losing situation we have on our hands."

"You are speaking in riddles, Lord Hector," Sarpedon said, confused at Hector's words. "As a matter of fact, _you_, Lord Hector, symbolize Lycia's strength and independence. How can Lycia profit if you fall here at Araphen?"

"I am not speaking of myself, but for the remainder of Lycia," Hector said, signaling the other three to lower their voices. "If Zephiel is to complete the conquest of Lycia, he must have a sizeable army at his back. We are in position to take that away from him."

"What do you mean?" Pandarus asked, "Mass assassinations?"

Sain, who had soldiered under a famous tactician in the past, suddenly grasped the meaning of Hector's words. Looking Hector straight in the eye, Sain said quietly, "You're going to make them bleed."

"Exactly," Hector said in a hushed tone, "If Araphen proves to be too tough of a bone to chew on, Zephiel may end up destroying his entire army on this rock. He cannot, without suffering a grave blow to his pride, pass over Araphen without taking it. We are poised to strike him in the rear should he attempt to bypass the city for other Lycian lands..."

"Yet in order to sack this castle, we can make him expend so many soldiers so that further conquest of Lycia is impossible!" Sarpedon warmed to this scheme, a method that would allow an old, frail man to meet his end in a blaze of glory. "At nearly a two for one casualty rate, we can decimate nearly three quarters of his army with our terrain advantage!"

"The casualty rate would be frightful in that case," Sain observed, "the entire garrison would be dead by the time our objective is achieved."

"The greater the struggle, the more glorious the triumph," Hector said. "Zephiel is no fool, and he should be able to see the difficulty of this battle. It is my hope that he will be forced to call of this battle after a few more attacks. Should Bern retreat, Lycia would gain time to shore up additional defenses and beg aid of Etruria."

"What is the meaning of this?"

The four speakers looked up simultaneously to see a furious Marquess Lancel pointing at his ruined battlement busy plugging up the castle gate. The marquess of Araphen was sputtering in rage as he shouted his displeasure in the face of a Lycian soldier. The soldier, though obviously frustrated at the marquess' tone, stayed true to his training and answered as courteously as possible.

"My apologies, Marquess Lancel," the soldier replied. "During the thick of the fighting, the precipice had to be dislodged in order to breach the ruined gates."

Lancel slapped the soldier, "How dare you! My grandfather built that precipice so that the lords of Araphen could survey their lands atop the walls! I already commissioned a statue worth a fortune to sit there! I'll have you hanged for desecrating it!"

Losing his patience at last, the soldier replied hotly. "You think I give a damn about that precipice? If it was needed to repel Bern's troops, who gives a damn what its original use was? And who the hell are you to give me orders? I am a soldier hailing from Thria, not a soldier of Araphen!"

"Insolent peasant!" Lancel said venomously, fully prepared to strike the soldier again. "I'll have you know your place..."

"That's _enough_!" Hector roared, silencing the two instantly. "Sain, please remove the soldier and see to it that this incident does not spread to the men. I need to have a few _choice_ words with Marquess Lancel."

"Yes, milord," Sain saluted before nodding his head towards the soldier.

"Now, Marquess Lancel..." Hector glared at the marquess of Araphen, "what were you doing while these _peasants_ were fighting tooth and claw to save this castle?"

All the air deflated out of Lancel at those words. "I... err..."

"The soldiers' morale and state of mind are already touchy due to the situation we are in, and I don't need _anything_ that could spread defeatism. Instead of berating these men for sacrificing a piece of masonry, you should be praising their efforts at keeping the enemy at bay," Hector thundered. "Keep your forked tongue between your teeth until this battle is over, is that _understood_?"

Visibly cowed, Lancel bowed in submission. "Yes, yes, milord."

Hector composed himself, "Very well, you may return to your lodgings, Marquess Lancel. I will speak with the council this evening regarding the state of affairs."

Lancel bowed stiffly. Turning abruptly on the heel, the Araphen marquess quickly departed the scene.

Sarpedon frowned in disapproval. "The men are laying their lives on the line so that pompous braggarts like him can remain in command? The apple has certainly fallen quite some distance from the tree!"

"Marquess Sarpedon," Pandarus said, "you know as well as I do that not _all _the lords think that way. You injure Lord Hector's name by saying so."

Hector chuckled, "It is quite alright, Sir Pandarus. Marquess Sarpedon meant no offense by that statement. The brave men of Kathelet are wont to speak their mind. I prefer straightforward speech over the flattering sycophants that I am otherwise surrounded with."

"Milord Hector," Sain said as he approached the group, "the enemy has ceased their attempts on the sealed main gate. They have pulled back for the moment. I have a few sentries watching the walls. They claim that several men in red robes are still loitering around the ruined gates, but for all appearances they seem to be harmless."

"I see," Hector frowned. "Why would Bern cease their attack? Never mind, I'll take this moment to assemble the council again. Let's see if there are any more suggestions for surrender, eh?" His comment drew a chuckle from his listeners.

Just as Hector finished speaking, screams and the clashing of steel were heard from the other side of the castle. Fighting down his rising dread, Hector barked, "What is going on?"

"Lord Hector!"

A Lycian soldier wearing the colors of Caelin sprinted towards the group. Halting before Hector, the soldier threw a quick salute before gasping out his report.

"Milord," the soldier said, "I have just come from the rear gate of Castle Araphen. The drawbridge has been lowered, the portcullis was raised, and Bern's troops are streaming into the castle!"

"_WHAT_?" Hector was furious, "Who the devil, with the brains of oatmeal, opened the gate?"

The soldier hesitated and wouldn't meet Hector's eyes. "Milord, it isn't my position to accuse a higher…"

"Out with it, man!" Sarpedon exploded, "Just give Lord Hector the damnable name of the culprit!"

"Dolon…" the soldier said slowly, "Marquess Dolon of Tuscany…"

"The wretched traitor," Pandarus cursed. "The breach must be sealed again, lest Marquess Dolon doom us all! Lord Hector, by your leave, I will take the Thrian division of spearmen and hold them off! Please send reinforcements as soon as you can!" The son of Orun sprinted off, bellowing for his men the entire time.

"Sain," Hector said, "take your Caelin division and aid Pandarus in repelling Bern, I'll be with you shortly. Marquess Sarpedon, you must stay here and hold the main gates in case Bern returns."

The remaining two knights nodded in agreement. Sain quickly signaled to the soldiers from Caelin and left for the rear gates.

"I confess that a part of me wishes to join you, Lord Hector," Sarpedon said. "Guarding a ruined gate pales in comparison to battle."

"Yet your task is in no way less important," Hector said, "If Bern takes this opportunity to breach both gates, we will be caught between the hammer and the anvil with no way to defend ourselves."

"That'd be quite impossible," Sarpedon laughed, "you yourself saw their frustrated efforts to shift the rubble. We are quite safe in…"

Before Marquess Sarpedon could finish his sentence, the impossible happened.

The debris and masonry choking the ruined main gates of Castle Araphen _exploded _inwards, raining a fine layer of dust on anyone who was within a ten feet radius. Several unfortunate soldiers were flattened by large pieces of flying rock. Everyone, however, was staring incredulously at the simple ease that their deterrent was demolished. Seeing that the gate was opened again, the Lycian defenders quickly established a defensive perimeter and tensely awaited a charge of Bern horsemen. They were about to be deeply disappointed.

Out of the choking haze and falling debris, a lone man dressed in fiery red robes strode forth to challenge the Lycian defenders. From appearances, the man was a veritable giant, standing at nearly eight feet tall with muscular limbs protruding from the hems of the red robe. Oddly, the man appeared to be unarmed with his hands trailing by his sides, grasping no visible weapon. His hooded gaze shifted slowly over the assembled Lycians until it came to rest on Hector. Utter silence reigned as the lone invader and the defenders stared at one another.

Marquess Sarpedon's laughter broke the silence. "Surely, this is the greatest jest in all of Lycia's history! One _unarmed _man from Bern comes to challenge the cream of Lycia's warriors. Fight on, brave Lycians! Fair eyes and great deeds await your victory!" Not even waiting for Hector's approval, Sarpedon charged alone to meet this audacious enemy.

_Wait, why am I feeling this chill up my spine? Where, in the name of the gods, have I felt this atmosphere of anxiety and oppression? _Hector was more wary. "Marquess Sarpedon, wait…!"

Before the shocked eyes of his audience, the robed man burst into flames. As the embers enveloped him in their hungry embrace, the man's physical form seemed to lose cohesion. His arms and legs became elongated as the skin became hard and crimson. The body grew exponentially in size while wings the color of blood sprouted from the back. From its hindquarters, a vibrant tail shot out into the walls, toppling a section of the battlements with a swift flick. Finally, the head burst forth from underneath the robe, covered in hard scales and leering giant, shiny teeth towards the terrified Lycians. Its appearance was human no longer, but of a shape and lineage that came from the darkest tales of creation. Lifting its head, the beast roared, a telltale sign of its bloodlust and hunger.

The sword dropped from Marquess Sarpedon's nerveless fingers as he skidded to a halt. "By the gods, it cannot be…"

Around Hector, the soldiers broke ranks and fled in terror. Their hearts were stricken at the sight of mankind's greatest foe, long thought to be dead, appearing before them in battle. A few made to stand their ground, but paled as a second behemoth crushed through an entire section of the wall for its entryway into the castle. Hector gritted his teeth in despair as even the most battle-hardened men around him panicked.

The wrath of dragons has once more fallen upon mankind. The battle was all but decided.

_

* * *

_

Halfway across Lycia and miles away from Araphen, Castle Laus stood situated between the Elibean Sea and the Laus Mountains. Several miles to the east, the River Tunly ran straight through the heart of Laus' territory before emptying out into the sea. Geographically speaking, Laus commanded the routes that led between Worde to the west and Caelin to the east, which turned Laus into a most profitable trade route. The only other path that connected eastern and western Lycia was the Jorgen Pass through the Laus Mountains. However, since crews of bandits and various unsavory characters regularly marauded the pass, most merchants gladly preferred the path through Laus itself. True, the Laus Marquess usually charged a small toll, but a few copper coins are a far cheaper price to pay compared to a merchant's head.

Besides being an important trade city, Laus is also the primary banking principality within Lycia. Centuries ago, House Laus and House Cornwell jointly created the monetary system that is used throughout Lycia today. House Laus established gold as the primary standard for the rich while House Cornwell introduced silver and copper to satisfy the demands of the common people. Originally a minor house serving House Caelin, House Cornwell was raised to noble status and granted Ciaran for its services to the League. While gold the medium of trade between the lords and the wealthy, silver and copper became the currencies that merchants and peasants relied on. Though the exchange rate was initially set at ten copper coins for one silver coin and five silver coins per gold coin, these rates became heavily susceptible to the market's influx of precious metals from the Western Isles. While gold was a rather stable currency, copper and silver were not. If too much of these two precious metals were in circulation, the worth of these metals decreased as their rarity decreased, heavily impacting the trade markets. House Laus, thanks to its banks that dealt strictly in gold, saw consistent increases to their monetary value along with their wealth. House Cornwell, with its large stockpiles of copper and silver to help the lower classes, suffered terribly throughout the years, and was finally bankrupt at the end of the Subjugation Wars.

Though the Subjugation Wars were largely waged by the sovereignty of Etruria against the bandits upon the Western Isles, its conclusions brought drastic changes to the business sector. Thanks to the efforts of General Mark of House Valshannar, Etruria emerged triumphant and fabulously rich with its newly acquired silver and copper mines. In their greed, the Etrurian nobles in charge of the treasury flooded the market with copious amounts of silver and copper. This rapid inflow of metals nearly halved the value of coins overnight, plummeting the exchange rate to twenty copper coins per silver coin and ten silver coins per gold coin. To meet the inflation, the head of House Cornwell, Marquess Ciaran, assumed the debts of many friends so that he could invoke the 6th Chapter of the Lycian Covenant.

The 6th Chapter of the Lycian Covenant was developed entirely to help problematic fiscal situations in individual Lycian states. The 6th Chapter states that, once the debts assumed by a marquess accumulate more than a fifth of his total worth and lands combined, the marquess is allowed to borrow funds from neighboring states to meet the deficit. The borrowed amount is to be repaid at a later date with suitable interest. With the value of copper and silver coins dropping dangerously, House Cornwell was forced to extensively borrow gold from House Laus to help reestablish the standard. Changing nearly all of the borrowed gold into copper and silver, House Cornwell and Ciaran were able to survive the economic depression after the Subjugation Wars. However, disaster swiftly followed on the heels of the depression.

Laus long resented Ciaran's role as an economic rival, and, with the end of the economic depression in sight, moved to destroy House Cornwell once and for all. Citing auditing the records as the motive, Darin of Laus successfully petitioned for a special investigation of House Cornwell's records. With the depression near ending and the exchange rates near its original value during the Subjugation Wars, House Cornwell found itself in the middle of a terrible misunderstanding: its coffers were carrying _twice _the amount it was supposed to have! Due to the inflation after the Subjugation Wars, Marquess Ciaran of Cornwell had exchanged all the borrowed gold for ten silver apiece. Now, with the exchange rates returned to five silver coins per gold coin, Marquess Ciaran's attempt to aid the people was now seen as a ploy to enrich House Cornwell by _stealing_ from the Lycian Alliance! Even if Marquess Ciaran repaid what he owned to Laus, House Cornwell would irrevocably gain a large profit in precious metals, a transaction that was illegal by Lycian law. Thus, owing to this, House Cornwell was officially placed under Ostian Justice, which eventually resulted in the dissolution of House Cornwell and the death of Marquess Ciaran. The city of Ciaran was returned to democratic rule, and Laus became the undisputed monetary power in Lycia shortly afterwards.

Owing to Darin's shrewd economical acumen, Laus became a major player in Lycian politics. Owing to Darin's pathetic politics, Laus was almost annexed by Ostia by the time his son, Erik, arrived on the scene. Displaying a political survival instinct that his father never possessed, Erik quickly tapped into Laus' formidable wealth and worked to rebuild all that his father squandered. Taking a hint from his lesson twenty years ago, Erik understood that he needed to maintain a strong hold over his dominion, but in such a way that doesn't alienate himself from his people. After all, Erik still required the populace to finance his coffers, fill his ranks with soldiers, and perform the innumerous construction projects he planned. With so much potential to gain, now was not the time to push a malcontent people towards rebellion.

In a relatively short span of twenty years, Erik had transformed the face of Laus by reestablishing Laus as both a serious military power and a financial powerhouse. When Darin ruled, Laus was considered nothing more than a haughty upstart that was vying for supremacy against Ostia's power. After Erik's reorganization, the nation-state of Laus was now viewed with new respect and acceptance within the Lycian League. The more powerful noble houses in Lycia, such as Ostia and Pherae, still remained on cool terms with Laus, but it was an improvement from the downright enmity from twenty years ago. The smaller, less powerful houses maintained friendly terms with Laus, the state that could easily help them with accumulated debts. In the political picture, Laus' influence had dramatically increased, though it still remained a distant third behind Ostia and Pherae. It stung Erik to no end that, even after twenty years of painstaking effort, Laus was still considered inferior to Ostia and Pherae.

_But the balance of power will soon shift in Lycia,_ Erik thought from atop the walls of Castle Laus.

Castle Laus was another change that Erik introduced at the start of his reign. Recalling the military fiasco known as the Battle of Laus twenty years ago, Erik paid great attention to the restructuring of the Laus military. Besides enlarging the standing Laus army using the 'surplus' from higher taxes, Erik also remodeled Castle Laus into a suitable defensive home. Today, Castle Laus' walls stand thirty feet off the ground and a solid twenty feet thick. Rather than having four towers, Erik doubled the amount. Castle Laus fairly bristled with all types of weaponry and was staffed by a troop of knights eager to do battle. Darin's forces were nothing compared to the might Erik commanded this day.

"Marquess Erik," a soldier saluted behind Erik, "Master Paltier wishes to speak with you."

"Very well," Erik replied, "I'll see him in the private audience chamber."

Descending from the castle walls, Erik tugged at his mustache absently as he considered today's meeting with Paltier. The planned ambush on the Ostian convoy had gone off without a hitch, but Narshen may prove to be a difficult conspirator. Thanks to Paltier's connections, Erik had met Narshen several months ago while Bern was busy subjugating Ilia and Sacae. The two had jointly pledged to assist one another to overthrow Lycia, but disagreed over the spoils of war. Narshen had maintained that, as the beneficiary representative of Bern, _he_ should be the new overlord of Lycia. To maintain his own interests, Erik also wished for dominion of Lycia's remains, but Narshen overruled his claims. In attempt to circumvent Narshen's refusal, Erik cleverly settled this matter by directly appealing to the king. After Zephiel's promise of rewarding Lycia to the most fitting candidate, it set off a no-holds-barred scramble between the one-time conspirators.

When Erik descended to the ground, his personal bodyguard, Rutgar, was already behind him. Where other nobles throughout Elibe usually traveled with a small army of guards, Erik smugly noted that he only required the services of one. Cool, calm, merciless, and taciturn, Rutgar was a Sacaen nomad that managed to survive the sacking of Bulgar. Nursing a bitter hatred against Bern for the destruction of his clan, Rutgar had drifted south into Lycia, where he was press-ganged into Laus' service.

_Truth be told, the man was half-starved and exhausted when they 'recruited' him, _Erik recalled, _if hale and healthy, he would've have slain the entire group single-handedly._ Erik had witnessed the Sacaen's deadly swordsmanship skills as Rutgar tore through the trainers like a wolf through sheep. Seeing a competent bodyguard complemented with a silent nature, Erik fanned the Sacaen's hatred for Bern before recruiting him into his service. After all, Lycia was at war with Bern in all appearances, so where else would a ghost of war like Rutgar find comrades that shared his sentiments against Bern if not a Lycian state?

_Fortunately, he doesn't know of Laus' true motives in the matter,_ Erik thought. _If he knew that Laus was working alongside Bern in this war, he would betray me in a heartbeat. Then again, I aim to break away from Narshen sooner or later. Why not pit Rutgar against him and hope they kill each other? _The thought alone was enough to make Erik cackle in the privacy of his head.

Erik halted outside his private lodgings. Signaling for Rutgar to remain on duty here, the Marquess of Laus entered the room before double-locking the door. Next to his wardrobe, Erik had installed a secret stairway that led to another room where the walls do not have hears. With the amount of intrigue Laus was involved with, it would be disastrous to allow any state secrets to be leaked to the outside world. The entryway to the secret chamber was unlocked, to Erik's considerable surprise, but Erik swiftly relaxed when he recalled that Paltier preceded him into the chamber.

Inside the secret chamber were a large table and half a dozen chairs. Erik could still remember the time twenty years ago when all these seats were filled with Lycian Lords to discuss rebellion. Back then, Erik could only watch as his father made a fool of himself and alienate all support from his cause. Erik intended to make no such mistake in his bid for power. It had been far too long since the War of Heirs that Laus was regarded as an international power, but Erik could afford to wait a few more months for his last plans to ripen. Fortunately, instead of a group of stubborn Lycian Lords that his father had to deal with, Erik only had to convince his Master of Spies, Paltier.

The obese spy looked up from his plate of food at the entrance of his master. Rising, Paltier bowed in greeting. "Your presence honors me, Lord Erik."

Erik had no time for pleasantries when he was gambling for a nation. "Spare me your flatteries, Paltier, I am in no mood for them today. What news do you bring of Bern?"

"Araphen is on the eve of its fall," Paltier rumbled with a burp, "it cannot hold back the full weight of the Bern offensive. With the capture of Araphen, quite a few Lycian Lords would be removed from the picture. Pandarus of Thria, Dolon of Tuscany, Lancel of Araphen, Sarpedon of Kathelet, and..."

"...Hector of Ostia," Erik said with relish, "Paltier, you do not know how much pleasure it gives me to have a hand in his fall. And with that insufferable old relic, Sarpedon, out of the way as well, most of the Council will be under my sway!"

"There still remains Eliwood of Pherae, who still remains rock solid as ever," Paltier said, "He has grown frail over the years, but his name still holds considerable sway over the Alliance. My informants reported that a sizeable group of bandits, acting in Bern's service, made a brave attack on Castle Pherae..."

"This just keeps getting better and better," Erik said, "Eliwood and Hector out of the way in one day? This calls for a drink!" Erik poured a glass of wine for himself and another for Paltier.

"I will take the drink, Lord Erik," Paltier said nervously, "but I must inform you that the bandit host was utterly _destroyed_ outside the castle."

Erik almost dropped the bottle of wine in surprise. "Destroyed? Impossible! Most of Pherae's troops were..."

"...Were with Roy, son of Eliwood," Paltier finished, "who returned just in time to thrash the bandits outside Castle Pherae. Damas, leader of the bandits, was slain along with nearly four-fifths of his command. As of this moment, Roy of Pherae is leading the Order of the Talon and a group of mercenaries towards Castle Araphen. He commands just over one hundred men-at-arms."

"One hundred, eh? That is insufficient to relieve the siege," Erik recovered from his disappointment. "With any luck, the Bern army will crush Pherae's reinforcements and send the boy's head back to his father atop a pike! That should accelerate Eliwood's end!"

"I'd actually prefer if Roy of Pherae remained alive. My lord, it is still too early to celebrate," Paltier warned, "You must be in position to act by the time Araphen falls!"

Erik turned in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"If Araphen falls, the Bern army will be prepared to move on," Paltier said urgently, "Ideally, only Narshen's division will remain to conquer Lycia. King Zephiel should return to Bern after the victory at Araphen, and General Brenya will leave to quell the unrest in Sacae. You must be in control of Lycia _before_ Narshen can make his move!"

"Yes, I see what you are getting at," Erik nodded, "though the Alliance's core was defeated at Araphen, the remaining Lycian states are still holding out. Narshen cannot risk an overland march with his army since he would be vulnerable to an attack from behind. The only lightning strike he is capable of making would be deploying his wyvern corps, but wyverns cannot hold a city on their own."

"If Narshen is as ambitious and hungry for glory as my lord states," Paltier said, "he may risk a landward march across Lycia. But in Lycia, Roy and his Pheraen troops would be able to strike him in the rear, forcing Narshen to delay! During this time, my lord must swiftly consolidate his power by taking Ostia!"

"Ostia..." Erik said the name in distaste, "Ostia is still viewed as the leader of Lycia. Though Hector nearly emptied the ranks from the Order of the Steel Tower, there are still a troop of knights in the city. With only Laus' forces, it'd be difficult to sack the city."

"Not to sack the city, milord!" Paltier said, "You must go to _liberate_ it instead! General Leygance has overplayed his importance and position in his bid for power. My spies report that, by imprisoning Lilina and taking command, Leygance has thrown the city into an uproar. Not only that, Leygance is on the verge of losing control of his mercenaries, the very mercenaries that make up the bulk of his forces! If an orderly group of Laus knights march up the road, with my lord at its head, proclaiming the restoration of Lilina's rule..."

"Public opinion would instantly swing to our side," Erik grasped the situation immediately, "The Ostian citizens would run over one another in their haste to unbar the city gates and let us inside!"

"Exactly, Lord Erik," Paltier said, "Then, to appease the people, my lord can off the heads of Leygance and his principal conspirators and proclaim yourself the new Protector of the Realm! In essence, supplant Leygance's position with Lycia firmly behind your back."

"And then force Lilina into a political marriage to consolidate my position," Erik nodded. "With that, the transfer of power would be complete. Laus would surpass Ostia in importance and status in Elibe."

A small squeak was heard overhead.

"Stupid mice, always going where they shouldn't belong," Paltier said, "Anyways, my lord, there is one small matter remaining: Narshen may fight for the dominance of Lycia, and with him comes the full might of Bern. Try as we might, Lycia cannot deflect the blows of Bern alone."

"Then what do you propose, surrender?" Erik asked impatiently, "I didn't come all this way, take over Lycia, for the sake of giving it to Narshen!"

"Of course not, Lord Erik," Paltier said silkily, "but you can rely on someone else to do the fighting for you."

"Who?"

"Does my lord remember a certain young lady that is currently studying finances in Laus? Lady Clarine was about to leave for Etruria to meet her brother when she was, oh so tragically, taken away by General Narshen of Bern..."

Erik smiled, "Indeed, the daughter of ex-Mage General Pent Reglay would prove to be quite useful..."

The mouse slunk away; he had heard all that he came to hear.

_

* * *

_

In matters of Ostian politics, Leygance had indeed gambled and overplayed his hand. His precarious role as the Bern insider and Ostian regent collapsed completely with the unexpected return of Lilina. If Lilina had been content to stay in Pherae, Leygance would _naturally_ be the candidate for Ostia's head administrator. On the other hand, Lilina returning to Ostia in broad daylight and the eyes of every Ostian watching her completely obliterated any of Leygance's claims. Indeed, Leygance's necessity was called into question, since Lord Hector and Lilina stood first and foremost in the hearts and souls of the Ostian people. Despite Leygance's public proclamation regarding his status as regent, Ostia refused to comply, only clamoring louder for Lilina to become the temporary head of Ostia until Lord Hector returned. Compounded with the difficulties of refugees, insufficient food supplies, rancorous mercenaries, and unstable political control, Leygance was on the verge of losing control of the city.

It was then, in a rare stroke of genius, Leygance turned back to the remnants of the Order of the Steel Tower. Ostia's armored knights were the epitome of Ostian power and pride, as well as becoming the symbol of unity and strength. Leygance hoped to use the Order's public appeal and obedience to win back the will of the people. Though the remaining Knights of the Steel Tower became aware of Leygance's treachery after the imprisonment of Sir Bors, their numbers were too few to contest Leygance's rule. Adding the fact that Lilina's life was clasped within Leygance's hands, there was little they could do except obeying.

When Hector departed Ostia with the majority of the knights, the Order was only left with roughly two score veteran knights and nearly a hundred squires or knights-in-training. Half of the knights are under the command of Devias, Leygance's lapdog, and the other half were under the command of Sir Bors until his imprisonment. With Bors removed from command, the twenty knights were placed under the most unique armor knight in Ostia, the Mohawk-sprouting Sir Barth.

Barth, though a senior-ranking member of the Order of Steel Tower, was in charge of training new knights for the Order since the departure of Hector. Though an excellent soldier and an uncompromising disciplinarian, Barth was passed over when Hector was selecting men to accompany him to Araphen. Publicly, Barth appeared to be slighted due to the lack of recognition from his lord, but inwardly he maintained a completely different outlook. Prior to the departure, Hector had privately called aside Barth and gave him the immense task of preparing and training Ostia's next generation: the future of the Order. The knights appointed to this task were considered to be the greatest leaders and mentors within the Order, an unrivaled honor. Barth learned, to his considerable joy, that the previous knight appointed to this job was none other than his idol, the legendary Oswin. Swearing to obey Hector's command, Barth dove into the task of refitting the lazy sons of nobles into the fighting men worthy of carrying the weight of the future.

He had performed magnificently. Out of the two hundred applicants for the Order, Barth weeded out those who were incapable, dishonorable, cowardly, or simply unfit for the call of duty. Some of the rejects, such as the treacherous Ananias Milrun, bypassed Barth's training through family ties or favors and became knights, though they would never be welcomed inside the ranks of the Order of Steel Tower. The remaining hundred odd recruits became highly disciplined, skilled, and unflinchingly bound to their duty under his patient, if somewhat harsh, tutelage. In truth, all that separated them from the official members of the Order was the official knighting ceremony. Though Lord Hector could knight these recruits as soon as he returned, it was against the tradition of the Order to do so. More often than not, these squires declined the quick road to knighthood, preferring to win honor on a battlefield and being knighted after performing a feat of great courage or valor.

Now, instead of training the new recruits, Barth was performing the _thankless_ job of restoring peace to Ostia. When Barth first heard the news of his reassignment, he nearly dislocated his jaw in the process. It was a well-known fact that Leygance's mercenaries were terrorizing the populace rather than helping the problem. Leygance had enough political problems to deal with and simply possessed no time to rein his mercenaries into line. Considering the city to be too much of powder keg to risk himself, Leygance had appointed Barth to restore the peace precisely to malign the Order's reputation. After all, the general reasoned, the people could hardly accuse him of failing when even the knights from the Order failed, right?

As fate would have it, Barth and his squires performed competently and brought relative security back into several sectors within the city. On the other hand, Leygance's mercenaries continued to tarnish their employer's name with continued acts of dishonor and injustice.

Barth sighed and rubbed his eyes as he stood near the city square with two knights behind him. It wasn't even noon yet, and already three fights had broken out between angry mobs and shopkeepers. With Lycia on a war footing, traffic was increasing, but food supplies and other goods were not being shipped around. Security on the roads in Lycia was in shambles, and bandits were roaming openly in large numbers. Merchants and transporters were increasingly keeping their wares in their hometowns, driving trade to a minimal. Since Ostia had so many mouths to feed with the inflow of refugees fleeing the war, the demand for food had increased dramatically. Food was hard to come by for anything short of silver coins, and the refugees had preciously few silver. Outbursts of violence occurred whenever the people found the prices too high for them to feed their families.

"Sir Barth," one of the knights said, "you shouldn't be sighing like that. The people have enough on their plates as it is, we can't discourage them any more."

"I know, Matthias," Barth said, "but sometimes the situation is more aggravating than I can bear. Did you know there was another riot near the castle this morning?"

"Another riot?" The other knight gasped, "What happened this time? Don't tell me Leygance hanged someone from the battlements!"

"_General_ Leygance, Jake," Barth corrected, "keep your voices down, sirs. Though I do not like it either, refer to the general by his proper title."

"Proper title, my foot!" Jake said, though a glance from Matthias checked his volume. "If General Leygance had not been the greedy, power-hungry, son of bastard that he is, Ostia wouldn't have this problem right now!"

"And that was precisely the reason for the riot this morning," Barth said quietly. "A whole crowd of Ostian citizens stormed to the castle and demanded Lilina's reinstatement. Sir Devias raised the drawbridge and had a herald read the proclamation again, but the people's shouts completely drowned out the man's voice."

"The proclamation? Oh, that pack of lies," Matthias chuckled, "What was it again? _"By the order of Lady Lilina, General Leygance is to assume full command of Ostia and lead the Lycian Council in Lord Hector's absence." _Now, if Lady Lilina had _personally_ delivered that edict, the city might be appeased..."

"...But so long as Lady Lilina is denied even a public appearance, the citizens know that there is something funny going on," Barth said, "General Leygance has dug himself quite a hole. If he allows Lady Lilina the opportunity to speak, she may publicly call for his head. If he doesn't allow Lady Lilina the opportunity to speak, the people will start calling for his head."

"What Ostia needs," Matthias said, "is for either Bern to stop attacking or Lord Hector to return and set everything right again. If Bern stops attacking, these refugees can go back home and the trade routes would open again."

"When Lord Hector returns," Barth said, "we wouldn't have to worry about having political and social problems. Political problems, Lord Hector likes to solve by banging a fist on the table. I'd like to see any of those nobles at court try to defy that!"

"Sir Barth," Jake said, "Wendy, Oujay and their team have returned from the 9th District. Looks like they have a few wounded."

Half a dozen squires and knights were moving towards Barth and his two companions. In the lead was a bareheaded female knight who had a hair band keeping her pink hair out of her eyes. Slightly behind her and supporting a swordsman on his shoulder came a mercenary with patch of blue hair. Coming to a halt before Barth, the group made their report.

"Wendy, acting leader of the 23rd Knight Squad, reporting; we've fulfilled our objectives."

"At ease, Wendy," Barth said, "how did it go in the 9th District?"

"The 9th District situation is patched up," the female knight replied, "According to several witnesses, a few of General Leygance's mercenaries were claiming their _rights_ by accosting several attractive females in the streets. Outraged by the improper advances, the surrounding crowd converged upon the four mercenaries. In the street brawl that ensued, nearly a dozen citizens were injured and two mercenaries were incapacitated. My squad _subdued _the remaining two and their unconscious comrades before carted them off to prison awaiting trial. The injuries suffered were received while wading through the crowd rather than engaging the mercenaries in combat."

"Oujay, were the citizens pacified after the incident?" Barth asked.

"Not really," the blue-haired mercenary replied, "several of them were prepared for continued fighting, but they grudgingly ceased after we put down the miscreants. However, someone in the crowd hurtled a cobblestone at the criminals, which started a rain of rocks and projectiles. They only stopped after a few of them noticed that the rocks were falling on us too. However, Milton took a hit to the head and still hasn't quite recovered from it yet."

"The citizens are increasingly on edge lately," Wendy reported, "Now, Ostians are openly moving around the city armed with cudgels or other crude weapons. Another fight broke out in the 14th District while we were on our way back here. That one turned into a brawl between some of the refugees and the residents there. That was pacified after receiving considerable help from the 16th and 37th Knight Squads."

"The 14th District?" Barth asked, "That's where most of the upper class folk and the richer merchants live. Why would they be actively seeking a fight?"

"The instigators did not come from the 14th District, Sir Barth," Oujay reported, "From the testimonies of the residents, they came from the slums in the 3rd District."

"Great," Jake said, "now we have people going across zones to create chaos. Why can't they just stay in one place and save us some time and trouble?"

"The poor are envious of the rich," Barth said, "When Ostia is in such a state of disturbance, the poorer elements of the city suffer considerably more than the wealthy. The wealthy can afford the high prices, but the poor are completely out of their depth. How do you buy bread when each loaf costs a silver coin and your daily wages are only three copper coins?"

"That might be the case," Oujay agreed, "but that doesn't hold true in the 2nd District. Even if there are only middle class and poor folk living there, I haven't seen _any_ disturbances in that area since being deployed here."

"_No_ disturbances?" Barth thought for a moment, "You seem to be right. I don't recall receiving a request for aid in that sector of the city in the longest time. The last time I had to dispatch the 15th Knight Squad there to fight a fire, they came back in less than half a candle mark saying that the fire was already put out by mercenary knights."

"Mercenary knights, isn't that an oxymoron by itself?" Matthias asked, "I don't understand, how can you follow knightly vows while accepting a different master's coin?"

"They can if they are in service of Ilia," Barth explained, "It's not for no reason that Ilia boasts the finest group of mercenaries, knight or pegasus riders, in all of Elibe. Their mercenaries are loyal, brave, efficient, and honorable. While it is true that they may end up serving against their former masters at a later date, they remain steadfast in their service to whoever is currently employing them. Trying to bribe an Ilian mercenary is like trying to bribe a Pheraen cavalier, altogether..."

"...Impossible," another voice finished, "thought that's the most glowing praise I've heard for a mercenary all my life."

The assembled Ostian knights turned as one to see who was their eavesdropper. The listener turned out to be a middle-aged knight with dark hair that was wearing white armor. In one hand, he held the reins to his warhorse while his other grasped a lance. Inclining his head slightly in greeting, the knight apologized for his interruption.

"I apologize for listening in on your conversation," he said, "but it is not often that a knight of Ilia receives favorable remarks outside his homeland."

"Ah, so you are a knight of Ilia," Barth said, "you are welcome amongst us. Your people are undervalued and underappreciated by the majority of Elibe, but knights who keep their vows have a brotherhood that extends beyond national ties. I am Barth of Ostia, and you are...?"

"My name is Zealot," the knight replied, "I am the Captain of the 12th Ilian Knight Corps currently stationed at the _Buck's Horn_ in Ostia."

"_Buck's Horn_?" Barth asked, "That makes you the leader of the mercenary knights that have been helping the 2nd District. Your assistance is greatly appreciated, Sir Zealot."

"It was nothing, Sir Barth. I was hoping to depart for a war front, fighting for Lord Hector," Zealot said, "but instead I find my corps detained here. Seeing nothing else at hand, we would be more than happy to assist you in quelling the disturbances in the city."

"I believe I will gladly take that offer, Sir Zealot," Barth smiled, "I currently only have a hundred knights in training and a score of armored knights to work with. In a city of Ostia's size, that is simply not enough."

"Then I'm glad to be of service," Zealot extended a hand, "The fifty cavaliers of the 12th Ilian Knight Corps are yours to command, Sir Barth."

Barth took Zealot's offered hand and shook it. "We will be in sore need of them."

During the following troubles that would bombard Ostia, Barth would find out that he became quite indebted to the efforts of the 12th Ilian Knight Corps.

_

* * *

_

Expecting to give battle when surrounded by cavaliers, Dieck and company were pleasantly surprised when the lead cavalier identified himself as Alan, a retainer of Pherae. Dispatched by Roy, Alan had led a score of Pheraen knights in search of the missing mercenaries that Eliwood contacted several weeks earlier. Chancing upon a group of Bern soldiers waiting in ambush, Alan's detachment drove them off just as Dieck's men were emerging from the forest. After a brief exchange of introductions, Alan requested that Dieck and his crew made all possible speed to Tuscany, where the assembled might of Pherae under Roy was stationed. Surmising that revealing Guinevere's identity might cause complications, Dieck had withheld that information, identifying the Bern princess and her attendant as mere travelers that chanced to accompany the mercenaries.

Managing admirably under the time constraints, the group took only a day's worth of hard marching to reach the outskirts of Tuscany. Alan, as a knight trained by one of Elibe's finest military orders, did not disgrace his upbringing and offered both Guinevere and Ellen horses for the journey. Thanks to this, the entire group circumvented the borders of Pherae in their speedy march for Tuscany. Nevertheless, in spite of their haste, it was near dusk when Alan finally directed them towards the pavilions that made up Pherae's base camp.

Guinevere and Dieck were quite surprised to find the camp a considerable distance from the towns in Tuscany. Most Elibean armies took advantage of local villagers by forcibly ousting them from their homes and using the houses as accommodations for the soldiers, with commanders and high-ranking officers taking the best residences. With the notable exceptions of Ostia and Ilia, armies throughout Elibe adopted this brutal practice. Arguably, the peasants and commoners suffered under this behavior, but any complaints were smothered so long as the 'visiting' army won wars.

As the senior war leader within the Pheraen army, Marcus was the one organized the camp layout. Adhering to Roy's wishes in leaving the people at peace, Marcus had ordered the camp to be constructed half a dozen miles from Castle Tuscany. Though Tuscany prospered greatly from its profitable location as a trade city, Roy was loath to press the needs of his army upon the innocent people. The locals frequently harbored a well-founded suspicion that traveling armies were wont to pillage nearby towns or _forage_ for their needs, often times using violence to get their ways. Placing emphasis on discipline and honor, Roy did his utmost to correct this troublesome impression by ordering every member of the Pheraen army to leave local villages untouched in any way. In Roy's mind, Lycians should not have to bar their doors and tremble in fear whenever a _Lycian_ army was marching near the town. An Alliance Army was supposed to consist of defenders and honorable warriors, not a band of marauders and bandits.

At the onset, the villages that Roy passed by remained apprehensive of Pherae's intentions. After all, most of the armies in Elibe pillaged their way to their destinations, so why should this one be any different? Gradually, however, Roy won back the support and acceptance of the people with an unflinching and unyielding attitude towards anyone who imposed unnecessary hardship on the peasants. One Pheraen knight who had accidentally allowed his horse to trample a patch of crops was punished by both paying for the accumulated damages and a dozen lashes. Such rigid discipline and respect for the defenseless commoners caused the locals to react in a way that Dieck never thought he would see in his life of soldiering.

Before Dieck's impressed eyes, villagers from local towns were voluntarily moving through the Pheraen base camp _selling _their wares to the knights. Ranging from foodstuffs, equipment, garments or even weapons, villagers were willing to do business with soldiers that would, in any other army, simply take their belongings without permission. Some of the items, particularly the food, were not simply crops that farmers were forced to pay as taxes, but included victuals from the farmers' own table as well. From the cheerful banter between the peasants and knights, Dieck clearly perceived that the villagers were not coerced into this task, but instead came willingly to barter with the soldiers. And the soldiers actually _paid_ for the products they purchased!

To their left, a child's shriek of merriment was heard as a five-year old sprinted out from behind a tent flap, pursued by half a dozen little children. Running around and between the feet of Pheraen knights, the children had no fear of the armored soldiers that looked down at them with amusement. Indeed, one knight bent down, scooping up the leader of the children before tickling the child until the little boy giggled for mercy. Without further ado, the knight deposited the boy back on the ground, where the game continued anew.

"This is certainly different from back home, eh, Dieck?" Lott observed.

Ward agreed, "I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times folks back home went into a military camp, and every single time they were forced to do so."

"There's nothing forced about these people," Dieck said, "Smiling farmers, amiable merchants peddling their wares, children playing hide and seek between tents… What the heck did this army do?"

"What did we do?" Alan craned his neck back to look at the mercenaries. "The answer is simple, nothing. Master Roy has laid down an iron set of rules and proper behavior for every member of the Pheraen army. Before I came to find your group, one of my comrades was punished for trampling some property. Granted, it was accidental, but he was publicly lashed and paid a small fine for the damages he caused."

_This is the sort of regime that would inspire fanatical loyalty amongst his people,_ Dieck thought, _is this why the lords of Pherae have long governed the most peaceful realms in Elibe?_ Dieck nodded, "I'm assuming we will have to abide by the same standard as well?"

"Of course," Alan nodded, "but Sir Marcus will dictate them to you after I take you to Master Roy."

Guinevere took note of her surroundings from atop the horse she sat upon. Wordlessly, she was comparing this scene of merriment and contentment with the serious and violent environment in Bern itself. One look at Ellen told the princess that she was thinking the same thing.

"Milady," Ellen said quietly, "I must confess something to you."

"What is it, Ellen?"

"I must confess that, in the beginning, I did not believe in your mission," Ellen said with her eyes downcast, "as your attendant, my duty is to follow you everywhere, regardless of my personal feelings. However, after seeing these innocent children," Ellen raised her eyes to look at Guinevere, "I will do my utmost to see your mission completed without delay."

Guinevere smiled serenely at Ellen in thanks.

"Hey, Alan!"

Alan pulled back on the reins at the outcry. Turning his head, Alan saw a young archer with blond hair hailing him with a wave of the hand. Recognizing the man's features, Alan's jaw dropped in surprise.

"Wolt? What the heck are you doing here? Since when did you leave the farm?"

"Whoa, is that the way to greet old friends now? I've got to get off the farm more often then," Wolt joked. "Pa sent me with a score of archers from the surrounding villages to help Master Roy. We arrived here this morning, when you were out looking for the other folks. Oh, and by the way, Master Roy said he needed to speak with the leader of the mercenaries as soon as possible."

"I see," Alan said, "Is Master Roy in his tent?"

"I'm not sure," Wolt replied, "he might be. If not, he's probably training with Sir Marcus near the northern side. I do know that Lance already had the pavilions for the mercenaries set up already."

"The tents are over to the east, Captain," Thany descended to the earth in a torrent of feathers as her Pegasus executed a graceful landing. "However, I have no idea where the tent of our employer is. From above, everything looks exactly the same!"

"Those who are unfamiliar with Master Roy's habits would be hard-pressed to find him," Wolt said. "The two of us played together in our youth, and I still don't think I've figured him out yet!"

"Wolt," Alan said, "could you lead the mercenaries to their resting areas? I'll take the two ladies and the leaders to see Master Roy."

"Will do," Wolt said, "hey, guys, come with me!"

After Wolt took off in the one direction with nearly fifty mercenaries behind him, Alan directed Guinevere, Ellen, Dieck and Thany towards the center of the camp. From the number of tents and pavilions set up in a circular fashion, Dieck estimated Pherae's strength to be around eighty knights, including Alan's men. In Lycia, only Laus could deploy a similar number of cavaliers, but Dieck knew quite well that Laus didn't have a chance of matching Pherae's strength man-to-man.

Alan dismounted before a rather inconspicuous tent and swiftly entered the tent flap. Moments later, the knight reappeared, his features slightly apologetic towards Guinevere and Ellen.

"I apologize for the delay," Alan said, "it appears that Master Roy is not in his tent at the moment. Ladies, would you care to rest yourselves in Master Roy's lodgings? I will bring him as soon as possible."

Guinevere wished to speak with a Lycian Lord as quickly as possible, but one glance at the nodding Ellen told her that the priestess was in dire need of rest. Nodding her acceptance, Guinevere led Ellen into the tent of the army's commander, where a small table, two chairs, and a neatly folded bedroll awaited them.

Outside, Alan led Dieck and Thany on foot towards the sound of metal clashing upon metal. Threading their way through half a dozen more tents, Alan stopped before a clearing that was surrounded on all sides by pavilions and watching soldiers. To the right, Dieck could pick out the archer named Wolt with Ward and Lott in tow behind him. Everyone's eyes were riveted on two armor-clad warriors striking at one another in the middle of the clearing. An old knight with graying hair dressed in purple armor was watching the bout while speaking and gesturing to several young knights next to him.

"That's Sir Marcus over there," Alan pointed towards the old man, "he's the knight responsible for training the Order of the Talon. The knights he is speaking with are junior knights that are still learning new styles of swordsmanship. And on the field is…"

Alan was cut off as the two fighters clashed like the meeting of two bulls. One man was covered in green armor, holding a shield and practice long sword in hand. The other was clad in blue, wielding a blunt, two-handed broadsword as he swung and parried. The two combatants struck at one another, each looking for an opening in their opponent's defenses. Granted, the practice swords contained dull edges so the fighters couldn't injure themselves in practice, but their leaden weights were still sufficient to knock a grown man out cold.

Dieck analyzed the two swordsmen based on their equipment and fighting stances. The fighter in green armor was obviously a cavalier fighting dismounted, as his long, slashing attack patterns clearly testified. Though somewhat awkward on foot, Dieck knew that the green knight's attack style was a textbook example of the perfect cavalryman's charging attack. This man's attack was considerably faster and more powerful than the average dismounted cavaliers that Dieck had seen in his career, but he wasn't too surprised. This _was _Pherae after all.

It was the blue-armored knight that held Dieck's attention the most. Similarly garbed but not holding a shield, the blue knight's attacks did not seem to follow a pattern at all. Before the eyes of his observers, the blue knight's style switched between a two-handed attack to a rapier-like stab to the single-handed hold of a Sacaen katana. Apparently, this knight was the recipient of a broad range of different swordsmanship skills and was not shy about combining them all into an unpredictable attacking style.

_From his broad range of knowledge, could the blue knight be a lordling? _Dieck thought briefly before squashing that thought. _You are a fool, Dieck. Not even Master Klein trained with commoners and peasants; no self-respecting noble 'lowers' himself to the level of training with peasants. They hold themselves above commoners with their dirty blood. The blue knight's probably just some other soldier in service of Pherae._ Until he met Alan, Dieck had never met a soldier of Pherae before. His contract with Marquess Pherae was done through the communications with Eliwood's secretary, Merlinus.

Feinting towards his left, the blue knight finished the duel. When the green knight extended his sword to meet the charge, the blue knight danced back before delivering a furious haymaker with a two-handed grip. Caught off balance, the green knight raised his shield in an effort to block, but that proved to be his undoing. Stopping the momentum of his attack, the blue knight reached out with his left hand and grabbed the shield. Using this as leverage, the blue knight swung to the green knight's rear, swinging the sword upwards and catching the green knight in the waist. The green knight fell to the ground with a grunt of surprise.

"Enough," Marcus said, stopping the battle, "both of you did well, though I still see the same mistakes that we were trying to fix a month ago. Lance?"

The green knight pulled off his practice helm, showing that his light green hair was plastered with sweat. "I'm afraid that is correct, Sir Marcus. I still haven't made the adjustment towards fighting as a dismounted soldier."

"Correct," Marcus said, "you are still telegraphing your blows because you're fighting like a cavalier. If you were mounted, this wouldn't be an issue because you would swing with the full force of a charging stallion to aid to your momentum. Lance, I want you to bout with Alan sometime later to accustom yourself to this change. That will be all, dismissed!"

"Half a moment, Marcus," the blue knight said, "I know that even I didn't do anything correctly in that bout. Do you have any words for me?"

The blue knight unclasped his practice helm, allowing his red hair to flutter slightly in the wind. Dieck was surprised by the knight's youthful appearance, impressed that a mere boy possessed such a fine sword arm.

"The same old, Master Roy," Marcus grinned slightly, "this old knight will try to mold you into a knight that uses _one_ style, but milord seems to think that mixing them together _is_ his style."

_WHAT? He is Roy of Pherae? Why is he…? _That was the first time Dieck was shocked by this Pheraen lordling's actions, but by the gods, it wouldn't be the last.

_

* * *

_

Spade in hand, Chad finished filling the large grave for the Bern soldiers before taking a step back to survey his handiwork. Wiping a grimy hand over his sweaty forehead, Chad nodded in satisfaction. With a few bundles of plucked flowers to disguise the recently disturbed soil, there was no sign that betrayed the fact that seven Bern corpses were buried there in a common grave. Admittedly, Chad believed that the Bern knights could rot for all he cared, but after Lou pointed out that Father Lucius would've been displeased with their actions, he relented. Sooner or later, their comrades would come looking for the missing knights, and neither Chad nor Lou wanted to run into more Bern soldiers. As it turned out, Chad vented a considerable amount of his frustration through physical labor, but nothing helped his heartfelt vow for revenge. Nothing except blood would wash away the pain he felt at losing his foster father.

While Chad was engaged in digging the grave for the soldiers, Lou saw to Lucius' body. Leaving the other children together in the shambles of the orphanage, Lou buried Lucius in the flowerbed that the children dug for their caretaker a few days ago. Located in the garden that the monk loved dearly, Lou's eyes were blurred by tears throughout his painful task. Though mentally more challenging, Lou's task was considerably facilitated by the children's innocent actions several days ago. After covering Lucius' corpse with dirt, Lou rolled a large river stone the children used as a plaything for the monk's headstone. After kneeling to offer one last prayer for the monk, Lou wiped away his tears to join Chad.

The thief, for perhaps the first time in his life, was voluntarily praying in silence behind Lou. Never one to be pious after the death of his parents, Chad was always _coincidentally _missing whenever Lucius called the children together for prayer. Not that it did the miscreant any good, since Lucius always asked Chad to repeat the prayer when he returned. However, Chad could not simply walk away from Lucius' memory without offering at least one prayer for the monk's soul. That, at the very least, should enable Lucius to smile down at him from Heaven.

Before Chad could finish his prayer, the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel reached their ears. In a flash, Chad and Lou were sprinting for the orphanage, with Chad bearing a dagger in hand and Lou holding an old spell tome that he found in the bookshelf. Darting through the open doorway leading to the garden, Chad positioned himself near the door that led to the pathway while Lou stood protectively in front of the children. On the other side of the closed door, the footsteps came to a halt as the mysterious visitor raised a hand to open the door.

Only to have the door completely fall off the hinges, revealing a bewildered brown-haired monk gawking at the ruined door.

"Father Abram?" Chad dropped the dagger in surprise.

"Chad? I didn't do it! I swear, the door just fell by itself!" Abram was on the verge of panicking, which swiftly turned to outright panic when he saw the condition of the room they were in. "By the Sacred Light, what happened to this kitchen, a tornado?"

Chad, Lou, and the children looked around. As the monk suggested, the kitchen looked veritably like a tornado disaster zone. The table was turned upside down, sans one of its legs that looked suspiciously like it was hacked off by a sword. Every chair was shattered into pieces, with pieces of wood strewn all over the floor. Everything fragile or remotely breakable had joined the remnants of the chairs on the ground in pieces. Several of the cupboards were wrenched out of the wall; evidently the Bern knights were a bit _overzealous_ in searching for hidden valuables. The pots and pans were hanging liberally from coat hangers or other odd places, and yesterday's dinner was _artistically _decorating the walls. Father Abram looked quite ready to faint.

A rather pregnant silence followed as the children's eyes drifted towards the ground, the perfect sign for the conclusion of a rather rowdy food fight. If the cause of this catastrophe wasn't so sorrowful, Lou could've laughed at the sight. However, considering what happened earlier in the day, none of the children were in any mood for laughter. At length, Lou spoke up first.

"Father Abram, this isn't what it seems to look like," Lou said. "We had a few unwelcome visitors come in here today. They were responsible for everything."

Father Abram's eyes clearly said they did not believe him. "Now, now, Lou, you know that lying is a bad example for the children. If you were all engaged in a food fight, well, it is quite a hassle to clean up, but don't try to dodge the consequences. If Father Lucius is displeased with all of you, I'll speak with him and make him understand."

"You... You can't speak to Father Lucius," Chad's voice cracked a bit.

Father Abram frowned at the young thief, "And why is that, Chad?"

Thomas, the young boy who lost his parents to soldiers, couldn't hold back any longer. "Because Father Lucius is dead!" Thomas blurted out, "Those Bern soldiers came and killed him, just like my mama and papa!" The boy burst out crying after nearly screaming out those words.

As if those were the magic words that held back the waterfall, Thomas' words sent the entire group into a torrent of tears. Lou dissolved into sobs while Chad fought back the sting of the tears stabbing at his eyes. In less than two seconds, the group was bawling their eyes out, leaving Father Abram radically out of his depth.

Yet, not for nothing was Abram delegated the task of being a liaison between this orphanage and the Elimine Church in Etruria. It was a priest's sworn duty to bring peace to his surrounding flock whenever they ran into troubles both secular and spiritual, and Abram was up to the task. Finding some unknown reserve of strength and will inside of him, Abram went around trying to console the distraught children. It was no lean feat, but Abram was able to calm their agitated nerves to a relatively peaceful state. When the children were under control, Abram went spoke with Lou and Chad regarding the specifics of the day's happenings.

"The loss of Father Lucius will be greatly lamented," Abram sighed, "he's been an unchanging rock that the church could always count on in this area of Lycia. With his passing, I doubt the church will ever be able to establish another orphanage in this war torn sector for years."

"But, what of the children?" Lou was anxious to raise objections.

"They'll be cared for," Abram answered, "I'll be taking them with me back to Etruria. There, they can join my flock in the orphanage I will be establishing in the countryside. Lou, Chad, will the two of you be joining me? Surely the children would be most delighted to have the two of you along."

Before Lou could reply, Chad beat him to it. "We'd love to come as well, Father Abram, but Lou wants to find Ray first and, knowing Lou, I better tag along to make sure he doesn't get lost."

"Ray? What happened to Ray?" Abram asked.

Ignoring Lou's confused expression, Chad continued, "Ray left a few days ago, before the Bern knights arrived. He only left a note saying that he went to further his studies in dark magic. Lou and I will find him and drag him back to meet you in Etruria."

"Are you sure the two of you will be alright?" Abram asked, "After all, the two of you are still child..."

"We are _not_ children!" Chad protested, "I turn fifteen and Lou turns fourteen this year, we're old enough to get by!"

"Hm, I see," Abram resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to convince either of them. "Very well, after the two of you find Ray, you can find my whereabouts by inquiring at the Elimine Church in Aquelia. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely," Chad said.

After Abram left to gather the children in the orphanage, Lou turned towards Chad. "I never said anything about going after Ray, Chad."

"I know, but that's what you're going to do, right?" Chad replied.

"Well, yeah," Lou admitted, "but how am I going to find him? Elibe is huge! I don't even have an idea where to start!"

"There, see?" Chad laughed, "That's why you need me to help you find your way. I do know the best way to find him though."

"And what would that be, oh incredible thieving one?" Lou laughed.

"We join an army that moves all around the place," Chad said, all laughter gone from his face. "An army that is not from Bern, an army that has to march around Elibe doing what armies do, and an army that does not frown at spilling Bern blood."

Lou shuddered at Chad's tone, "Chad, you..."

"I'm going to make them pay, Lou," Chad said darkly, "I'm going to kill every Bern bastard I can get my dagger into until I find the soldier who ordered these knights to pillage this area."

"What are you going to do after you find him," Lou was almost afraid to ask, "kill him too?"

"Twice I lost my family to Bern soldiers, Lou, " Chad vowed, "The first time, Father Lucius found me abandoned and dying in an old barn after those bastards slew my parents. This time, even my second father was taken away from me. I will make them pay, I will make them pay dearly for this!"

War is the culling flame, the scything rite, and the threshing floor that turns men into beasts.

_

* * *

_

The moment the dragons set foot inside Castle Araphen, the castle's fate was sealed. With dragons menacing the main gate and Bern's elite shock troops pouring in from the rear gate, there was nowhere for the Lycian defenders to flee. Shocked and unnerved by the appearance of dragons, the defenders at the main gate were in no condition to clash with the Bern forces from the rear. Of the vassals and knights that began the siege behind Lord Hector and Marquess Sarpedon, only a handful were able to master their fears, the rest fled in complete disarray.

Yet those who remained could do little against the nightmarish beasts. Too few human defenders rose to challenge the might of the two dragons; they were swatted aside like flies. Of the three score men that stood their ground against the two dragons, the flames that erupted from the mouths of the hellish beasts cooked half of them to meat pies. Those that survived were pitilessly crushed underfoot, ripped asunder by the giant claws, thrown all over the courtyard by the thrashing tails, or devoured by the gaping jaws. The few weapons that struck the scaly beasts did nothing more than glance off the unyielding dragon hide.

"Men of Lycia, soldiers of the Alliance, rally to me!"

Thirty yards away from the dragons, Marquess Sarpedon made a heroic effort to rally the morale of the defenders. As he bellowed for men to come forward and take a stand, one of the dragons became aware of the old man. Irritated by the screeching voice, the dragon lunged forward, scattered men, corpses, and debris like ninepins before opening its great jaws for the kill. Old age betrayed Marquess Sarpedon at last as his aging knees refused to move fast enough. Unable to dodge the call of death, the Marquess of Kathelet could only watch as the sword-like teeth clasped him in their terrible embrace, penetrating through armor, flesh and bone alike.

Fighting down the pain that seared him like fire, Marquess Sarpedon screamed. "Fight on, brave Lycians! Do not falter because I have fallen! Rescue my body from these Bern bastards and give it a proper burial!"

The dragon seemed to understand the old marquess' words. With a roar, the dragon shredded the old marquess into two bloody halves before swallowing the corpse whole. Blood fell like rain from the dragon's jaws as the beast strewed Marquess Sarpedon's remains beneath its feet. As the dragon roared in triumph, Bern's troops poured through the hole the beasts made and scoured the defenders from the courtyard. All courage fled from the hearts of the Lycians, leaving only one man to stand against the tidal wave of Bern soldiers pouring in from the main gate of Castle Araphen.

Meanwhile, at the vicious battle for the rear gate, the invaders were steadily pushing the diminishing lines of defenders back. Leaving the safety of the citadel, or inner fort, Sain and Pandarus led their men in a furious attack to repel the invaders. In a desperate gamble, the Lycians sought to beat back a numerically superior foe with a lightning attack. If successful, the defenders could win control of the rear gates and once again bottle their foes into a small funnel, where the defense could be managed. If they failed or simply defended the citadel, the entire rear courtyard would be yielded to Bern's forces and siege weapons. The defenders' only hope remained in regaining the rear gates and forcing a long, drawn out battle. Unfortunately, Bern already had a sizeable force inside to defend the entrance to Castle Araphen, with more men pouring through the threshold by the second. Absorbing the shock of Pandarus and Sain's charge with pure numbers, the invaders began to push back their outnumbered foe.

Unaware of the disaster that befell the main gate, Pandarus of Thria and Sain of Caelin fought like demons to prevent Bern's advance. In vain did Pandarus and Sain wait for Hector to send reinforcements as their comrades fell like leaves around them. In less than a quarter of a candle mark, the defenders were fighting with their backs to one another, surrounded by a sea of Bern soldiers. Outnumbered at least five to one, the Thrian and Caelin soldiers continued their futile struggle against the inevitable. Though Pandarus and Sain both slew dozens of enemies, it became blatantly apparent that their cause was doomed.

"Sir Sain," Pandarus grunted as an ax nearly took his head off, "we cannot continue this battle like this! We need to pull back to the citadel and mount the last defense there! Where are Lord Hector's reinforcements?"

Sain hurtled his javelin, picking off the Bern warrior trying to attack Pandarus' unprotected rear. He faced the howling Bern attackers and replied with his back to Pandarus. "I understand! Without reinforcements, this position is impossible to defend! Sir Pandarus, I'll fight rearguard with the remaining Caelin knights. You fight your way through this throng and win the path back to the keep. We'll follow after covering your back. Make haste!"

"I'm on my way," Pandarus replied, "Be care- AH!"

Sain, hearing the outcry, turned his head to look. Out of the corner of his eye slit, Sain saw Pandarus take an arrow right in his sword arm. Faltering, the knight of Thria dropped his sword from the pain, leaving him weaponless against the Bern spearmen surrounding him. Seeing their opportunity, half a dozen Bern spears stabbed forward. Four of the spears found their mark on Pandarus' horse, while the other two pierced his torso. With a neigh of pain, horse and knight collapsed to the ground.

"SIR PANDARUS!" Sain screamed, "HANG ON, I'M COMING!"

It was too late. Sain could only watch, separated from Pandarus by a horde of Bern soldiers, as Pandarus weakly tried to pull out one of the spears with his uninjured arm. A Bern ax looped down, taking off Pandarus' arm from the shoulder. As blood gushed out of the wound like a fountain, the ax swooped down again, parting Pandarus' head from his body and ending the knight's cry of pain. The headless corpse swayed for a second, before tottering to the ground. With that, Pandarus, Knight of Thria, nephew of Lord Hector, joined the list of Lycian martyrs that dotted the floor of Castle Araphen.

Sain howled in grief as he saw Bern soldiers stooping to pluck the gold pieces from the fallen knight's armor. "Sons of Lycia! Will you let these godless fiends despoil the honorable body of the fallen?"

"NEVER!" The scream of the surviving Caelin and Thrian knights shocked the Bern soldiers, considering there were less than twenty knights still alive.

"Then, FORWARD!" Sain roared, "Send these demons back to the seven hells where they came from!"

Few and outnumbered as they were, the remaining Lycian knights tore through the encroaching Bern forces like a hot knife through butter. Though half of them fell in the suicidal charge, their corpses were surrounded with the bodies of Bern soldiers they slew in the dying struggle. Scattering the looters, Sain leapt from his horse to gather the mangled remains of Pandarus before remounting and bearing the body from the fray. Only four knights were still behind the Green Lance of Caelin as the vastly diminished defenders gained the relative safety of the citadel. The Bern invaders stormed after the quintet, intent on slaying the perilous Green Lance that slew so many of their brethren.

With the death of Pandarus and Sarpedon and Sain's defeat, there were virtually no defenders to contest Bern's invasion. Both the front and rear courtyards were in Bern hands as the invading army poured into the castle through the two gates. With the scattered and distraught Lycian defenders fleeing for the citadel, Bern only had to slay one man in the front courtyard to begin their victorious march into the heart of Castle Araphen. Only one man had the honor, the courage, and the absolute audacity to stare down three hundred Bern soldiers and two dragons without flinching in the slightest.

His name was Hector of Ostia.

The Bern soldiers hesitated slightly when seeing the General of Ostia standing alone before them. Hector's reputation as a warrior was legendary even beyond the borders of Lycia, and no Bern soldier was eager to meet death by the Wolf Beil ax in his hands. Granted, whoever defeated the General of Ostia would win renown throughout Elibe, but Bern's soldiers were not stupid. They knew fairly certainly that Hector _was_ killable; it's just that he might take out a good portion of them before succumbing to death. Why would a reasonable soldier risk life and limb to win glory and honor that they couldn't spend in the afterlife anyways? Thus, the Bern soldiers looked at one another, silently begging someone else to take the lead.

The dragons had no such worries. Driven mindless by the lust for battle and human meat, one of the dragons bound forward, snapping at Hector with jaws filled with sharp and pointy teeth. The other dragon seemed content to watch, having temporarily satisfied its hunger for human meat with Marquess Sarpedon. Granted, the meat of an old man proved to be a tough chew, but the dragon wasn't complaining.

With his derisive smirk covered by his long blue beard, Hector bound forward into battle. Dipping underneath the dragon's outstretched jaws, Hector ducked underneath and delivered a furious uppercut with the Wolf Beil. The blow clove through the tough dragon scales and scored a gash on the dragon's throat, but the Wolf Beil suffered a hairline crack from the recoil. Enraged at the attack, the dragon lifted its neck and faced downwards with its maw wide open. Aiming at Hector, the dragon unleashed a torrent of flame towards the General of Ostia. Disappearing from view, only Hector's blue cloak could be seen burning in the flames.

Some of the soldiers cheered at the fall of Hector, but the majority remained silent. If the dragons smote down all the great warriors, what honor is reflected upon the soldiers? While it is true that defeating the enemy is the primary goal of the army, but the army also liked to reward its members for valiant deeds of bravery. Though Hector had fallen, the majority of the army felt a deep sense of regret. Each of them had harbored the dream of striking down a legend such as Hector of Ostia, and that dream was blown to scrap by one puff from a dragon.

The dragon closed its jaws, stopping the cone of fire. Bending forward to survey its handiwork, the dragon was surprised to find only a charred and flaming piece of Hector's cloak remaining. Though dragon fire was potent and could melt all manners of material, there was no way that _nothing_ remained! Surely the smoking remains of Hector's armor should be there, cooling off from its beating. It was then that the dragon felt a sharp, biting pain on the underside of its throat.

With a bloody slash, the gigantic head of the scaly beast was separated from the rest of its body. Before the stunned eyes of the Bern soldiers, Hector emerged drenched in the spewing dragon blood. The Ostian Lord had used his cloak as a diversion, taking off the confining material while moving forward underneath the dragon's head. Intent as it was on turning Hector into a charred side of bacon, the dragon was not able to see Hector biding his time underneath the dragon's breast. When the beast came down to inspect its work, it presented Hector with the golden opportunity of a decapitating strike.

Hector strode forth with a challenging glint in his eyes as the dead dragon crumpled behind him. Clasping the handle of a crumbling Wolf Beil, Hector ignored the drops of red dragon blood that were slowing traveling down the length of his armor. With an audible crack, the tortured Wolf Beil shattered, unable to hold together after sustaining two heavy blows to the toughest armor known to mankind. Yet even disarmed, Hector's challenging glare did not lessen in the slightest. The Bern soldiers wavered even more at the killing intent that seemed to scream from Hector's eyes. The General of Ostia looked dangerous enough to rip them to pieces with his bare hands.

_Mark's impersonation of a demon is certainly useful for scaring the crap out of idiots, _Hector thought as he unsheathed a broadsword from his side. Taking a deep breath, Hector roared at the uncertain enemies before him. "So it has come to this, curs! Fight or run, make your decision _NOW_!"

If at all possible, the assembled Bern host in the courtyard seemed to shrink further. Outnumbering the lone Ostian three hundred to one, nearly every Bern soldier was cowed into submission by the pure confidence and proud aura that Hector exuded. For those that weren't convinced by Hector's bravado, one look at the dead dragon stiffening in death behind Hector was sufficient. A few were bright enough to look for the other dragon. Surely it would be intent on avenging its egg-brother, right? When they looked for the other scaly behemoth, all they found was the empty space that the creature was standing at.

"To answer your question, Hector of Ostia," a voice sneered from above, "I've come to fight. Why don't you stand still and make this quick and painless?"

Before thought even crossed his mind, Hector's instincts screamed for him to take a step backwards. Considering what followed, it was a good thing that he took quite a few more steps than one.

Screaming out of the sun came a wyvern with jaws open and claws ready to shred flesh. Shielding his eyes with one hand, Hector retaliated with his sword, only to have his attack countered by a lance jabbing forwards. Leaping back a few yards, Hector found himself staring at blond wyvern knight standing arrogantly on the back on his wyvern while twirling a long lance.

"My liege recalled the dragon, Hector of Ostia, of which I am extremely thankful for," the knight said, pointing his lance at Hector. "I am Narshen, one of the Three Dragon Generals. Look upon me well, for my handsome face will be the last you see before you die!"

Hector grinned savagely. "I will enjoy stuffing your wyvern's carcass down your throat, Narshen!"

Before Narshen could direct his wyvern back into the skies, Hector was already charging forward. The wyvern, acting in its own defense, snapped at Hector with its jaws. Disregarding the rows of sharp teeth as if they were blunt knives, Hector pulled back his left arm before delivering a powerful buffet between the wyvern's eyes. Seeing stars from the attack, the wyvern's head subconsciously dipped lower, just in time for Hector plant his broadsword through the creature's skull and nailing it to the ground.

"RORIX!" Narshen screamed, "Damn you, Hector!"

In fury, Narshen raised the lance in both hands before stabbing Hector in the shoulder. So great was the Dragon General's hatred that the spear shattered Hector's right shoulder guard, scoring a deep wound that burned like fire. Dismissing the powerful stab like a mosquito's sting, Hector's pace did not lessen in the slightest. He continued to pull forward, tackling Narshen off the dead wyvern and snapping the lance during their subsequent fall. Crushing Narshen beneath his ponderous armor, Hector ground a mailed fist into Narshen's face several times before standing up.

Hauling Narshen into the air by his throat with his left hand, Hector nodded in approval as he viewed the changes he made to Narshen's definition of 'beautiful.' The blond Dragon General was currently sporting a mess of purple bruises, red welts, and a cut on his brow that drew blood. The immaculate hair on his head was a complete fashion disaster, flying out at awkward angles as Narshen struggled for air. The surrounding Bern soldiers watched in absolute horror.

In a last ditch attempt to salvage what remained of his reputation, Narshen yanked out a small dagger with his left hand and tried to stab Hector in the face. Aforementioned Ostian merely grabbed the dagger in a mailed fist before exerting enough force to shatter the pathetic little piece of steel into tiny needles. Leaning closer to Narshen's terrified expression, Hector raised an eyebrow.

"So this is the _incredible_ power and skill of a Bern Dragon General?" Hector asked incredulously. "Eliwood always claimed that I didn't have an ounce of swordsmanship in my entire body, but if a Bern Dragon General is this weak, I might as well fight you unarmed. Oh wait," Hector grinned victoriously, "I just did."

"I apologize profoundly for the disappointment, Lord Hector," a smooth, feminine voice sounded behind Hector from the direction of the citadel. "I will now correct your misguided opinion regarding his matter."

A powerful blast of fire magic made a direct hit on Hector's unprepared back. Hurtling Narshen aside like a rag doll, Hector spun around to face the new threat. In front of him, a purple-haired sage was holding a growing ball of flame in her left hand while her right was holding a staff.

"I am Brenya, one of the three Dragon Generals under King Zephiel of Bern," the sage said, "Castle Araphen has surrendered to Bern, Lord Hector. If you capitulate, you may be spared by my liege."

"Man dies, but glory lives forever," Hector replied, "I cannot shame my country by bending the knee. You will have to kill me to stop me from defending Lycia."

"His Majesty respects your courage," Brenya, "as such, my king has graciously asked that I bring you to him alive."

Brenya raised the staff she held in her right hand, and the magical energies of the staff obeyed her mental command. A light, soothing shower of arcane magic rained down upon Hector, forcibly knocking the General of Ostia unconscious. Waving a hand towards the soldiers in attendance, Brenya ordered them to bring the sleeping Hector to Castle Araphen's throne room. Their confidence in the Dragon Generals restored, the soldiers leapt to obey her commands. One of them, however, was not pleased with the turn of events.

"Brenya!" Narshen screamed as he was helped to his feet by two soldiers, "what the hell took you so long?"

"His Majesty decided to give you a chance at Lord Hector alone, General Narshen," Brenya did not let her contempt of the wyvern knight cloud her voice in public. "Surely, as one of the Dragon Generals, your skills would have been more than enough to defeat Lord Hector on your own. His Majesty stated that surely even _Gale_ would've been able to defeat Hector, so what problems would Narshen have?"

Cold sweat ran down Narshen's brow at his rival's name. Gritting his teeth, Narshen chaffed at having to bend to Brenya's superiority again. "I was caught unawares by this barbarian, Brenya. This will not happen again."

"Of course not," Brenya said silkily, "but come, General Narshen. His Majesty awaits the two of us."

Narshen rubbed at his stinging bruises as he stumbled after Brenya towards the Araphen throne room. Passing into the citadel, Narshen glanced towards the innumerous Lycian soldiers who were standing with their hands atop their heads in a stance of surrender. Bern soldiers were already collecting their discarded weapons and piling them in the courtyard. Several healers were attending the wounded, though the majority of the injured were far beyond mortal aid. Sometimes, when the wound was deemed fatal, the healers administered 'stroke of mercy,' allowing the tormented soldiers to expire quickly and painlessly.

"I assume your division secured the rear courtyard with little difficulty," Narshen said as he glanced at the troops of the Bern 3rd Corps.

Brenya half-turned her head to look at Narshen. "We ran into our fair share of trouble, General Narshen. Two knights from Thria and Caelin resisted our invasion to the end. My subordinates managed to put down the Thrian commander, but the Caelin knight rescued the corpse and escaped into the citadel with a handful of followers. We still haven't uncovered his location."

"Is he that dangerous of an individual?" Narshen asked.

Brenya turned around again. "I believe he was the Green Lance of Caelin. A name that I'm sure you have heard of."

"The elite freelancer?" Narshen winced as he tried to staunch his bleeding forehead.

"The very one," Brenya pulled out a healing staff and held it before Narshen's face. "Allow me to help you with that. It would be most unseemly to approach His Majesty with such an _unkempt_ appearance." Narshen scowled as the healing energies of the staff went to work. His muttered thanks were barely audible.

Just as they were about to enter the throne room with the unconscious Lord Hector, the doors to the throne room swung outward with a bang. Inside the doors, the throne room of Castle Araphen was lined with ceremonial weapons forged of silver and gold. Rich tapestries hung from the walls while spectacular stain-glass windows depicting valiant deeds stood between them. Near the throne, Marquess Dolon of Tuscany and Marquess Lancel of Araphen bowed their heads in submission to their conquerors.

"Brenya," a voice boomed from the throne, "have you finished your commission?"

Zephiel, King of Bern, sat majestically on the throne of Araphen as he gazed upon his two servants. Standing slightly behind the throne, the dark priestess that accompanied Zephiel everywhere was standing in attendance. Having entered the castle through the rear gate while Hector was busy in the front courtyard, Zephiel had accepted Marquess Lancel's surrender and quickly taken control of the castle. Many of the Lycian defenders, ready to risk their lives in one final battle, were bewildered and betrayed when Marquess Lancel ordered them to lay down their arms. Brenya was then dispatched to bring Hector before Zephiel, whether Narshen succeeded or not was immaterial. At the moment, the King of Bern fixed his steely gaze upon Brenya, awaiting her report.

Before Brenya could reply, Marquess Lancel blurted out, "Your Majesty, you have not granted our requests yet. Perchance you can make your decision now?"

Zephiel fixed his gaze upon Dolon and Lancel. "A failure such as you, Marquess Lancel, will not be granted autonomy of Araphen. Like Marques Dolon, the two of you were willing to betray your comrades and brothers of the sword for the sake of personal gain. Your loyalty to our cause is questionable, considering you surrendered only to spare your miserable lives. What more do you have to say?"

Dolon was sweating profusely before Zephiel's gaze. "Your Majesty, the battle was all but over! I overhead Lord Hector mentioning that the castle's supplies were going to run out by the end of the week. It was a simply a matter of survival…"

"In, Bern, we respect honor and battle more than all other virtues," Zephiel said softly, "and abhor spineless men who would do anything to save their pitiful lives. Your betrayal has forfeited your lives and the lives of your men. Take them away."

As the elite guards took away the protesting Marquesses Dolon and Lancel, Brenya asked, "Your Majesty, you wish to slay them all?"

"Every enemy in this castle," Zephiel said emotionlessly, "is to be executed."

The silence was so deafening one could hear a pin drop.

Brenya finally found her voice. "Your Majesty?"

"There are over two hundred Lycian soldiers still here, Brenya," Zephiel said, "The core and pride of the Alliance army, if allowed to depart, would return and fight on another battlefield. After this garrison is slain, there will be no one to contest Lycia's conquest."

"But Your Majesty," Brenya protested, "Marquess Lancel promised these men their freedom if they surrendered."

"The marquess made promises, we made none," Zephiel said, "We give them the freedom of death."

"Who are you and what have you done to Prince Zephiel?"

Everyone in the room turned to see Hector awake and glaring at the King of Bern. The two soldiers who were hauling Hector on their shoulders stared at the General of Ostia in shock. Before they could restrain him, Hector grabbed them by their necks and smashed their helmets together, effectively knocking them out cold.

"And what are you referring to, Hector of Ostia?" Zephiel replied.

Hectored glared at Zephiel, "You are not the peaceful prince of your youth. What happened to the Prince Zephiel that I saw the night before the coming-of-age ceremony?"

Zephiel's eyes widened the tiniest of a fraction before resuming their original look. "We never knew who interfered on that night twenty years ago. Considering the situation of today, you might have acted otherwise back then."

Narshen glanced accusingly at Brenya. "I thought you used a sleep spell on him?"

"I did... But he couldn't have shook off the effects so quickly..." Realization dawned upon Brenya, "You only _pretended_ to succumb to the spell's effects. Typically, sleep or berserk spells take much longer to overpower the will of an individual, especially a seasoned warrior. I should've sensed something was amiss when you fell so quickly."

Hector's gaze did not leave Zephiel. "An old friend taught me that deception lies at the root of all strategy. Though the time for deception has passed, and now I wish he taught me a few more skills on regicide."

Brenya sucked in a breath. "You shall _not_ harm His Majesty while I still live!" The purple-haired sage moved between Hector and Zephiel.

"You have all the advantages on your side, King Zephiel," Hector's voice was dangerous, "but I still have one last card left to play."

"And what is it?"

"Honor," Hector said softly, "single combat, one-on-one, between the leaders of two countries. You cannot refuse without sustaining irreparable damage to your honor."

"Absolutely absurd," Narshen said, "His Majesty has already carried the day. Why should a victorious king listen to the plea of a defeated man?"

"Indeed, why does he listen to you, Narshen?" Hector spat back, "The kings of Bern are regarded as the strongest warriors in their country. A king of Bern _cannot_ decline an honorable challenge from another true noble!"

"Your Majesty..." Brenya turned to Zephiel, but his gaze was not on her.

"So bet it," Zephiel smiled thinly, "choose your weapon, Hector of Ostia."

Hector pulled out a jeweled ax from one of the late Marquess Lancel's decorations in his throne room. "I have chosen."

"Your Majesty," Narshen interceded, "there is no need to chance yourself in this. Allow me..."

"...To be vanquished yet again?" Zephiel finished, "We are tired of your voice, Narshen. Be silent, and watch!"

From the onset, the combatants appeared to be roughly evenly matched. Both men were powerful warriors in their prime, proven champions in tourney and battle. Each one wore a gigantic suit of armor that no ordinary knight could carry for even a candle mark. However, Hector was wounded from fighting a dragon and Narshen earlier, while Zephiel came into the duel rested and uninjured. Nonetheless, Hector gripped the custom-crafted ax tightly in both hands as Zephiel drew forth his own weapon. But if the champions were considered equal, there was nothing comparable between their weapons. Hector's ax was merely a silver ax with a jeweled handle that Marquess Lancel received as gift from the General of Ostia many years ago. Zephiel's sword was _the_ Exxacus.

Exxacus, one of the Legendary Weapon wielded by Hartmut, was a thick broadsword that knew no equal in its category. While the Sword of Seals was in a class of its own and the Durandal was an equally famous long sword, both weapons remained sealed by their previous owners. Thick and triangular, Exxacus is probably the only Legendary Weapon that has been passed down generation after generation by the kings of Bern. One solid blow from this sword, and Hector would be stretching his length on the floor.

"You wish to maintain this duel, even at your disadvantage?" Zephiel said.

Hector gave the barest hint of a nod. "For Lycia's sake, I will put an end to your conquest right here!"

With that said, Zephiel and Hector charged forward at one another. Zephiel possessed a clear advantage in arms, both he and Hector knew that the silver ax stood an icicle's chance in hell of blocking Exxacus. Thus, Hector's only advantage would be to dodge Zephiel's attack before landing a killing blow with his ax. Any delay would allow Zephiel to press his attack by using Exxacus' strength to his advantage.

Even if the duel began in an honorable fashion, but there was nothing honorable about the ending. As Zephiel raised Exxacus to strike Hector in the chest, the General of Ostia was already shifting sideways to dodge the blow. Abruptly, Hector was paralyzed by a lance of pain that shot from his shoulder throughout his body. Rendered perilously slow by the incapacitating pain, Hector glanced at his wounded shoulder only to see the wound slowly dripping a green substance.

The truth flashed across Hector's mind in an instant. Smiling bitterly, Hector said softly, "I'm sorry, Lilina. Forgive your stubborn father…"

The Exxacus stabbed forward, shearing through armor and flesh as it emerged through the other side of Hector's body. The leader of the Lycian Alliance shuddered briefly before accepting his doom, a fate that was destined to befall all who drew forth Armads. Durban had decreed that whoever wielded the incredible blade of Armads would die in battle, and Hector was no exception.

In the front courtyard, the broken halves of Narshen's lance lay near the corpse of his wyvern, Rorix. As the fading evening sun fell upon its blade, the Bern soldiers in the courtyard could see a pale green color glistening from its lance point.

Narshen always coated his spear with poison.

* * *

Only a few days ride from Castle Araphen, the other heir to Bern's throne was awaiting her chance to end this bitter war. Wholly ignorant of the fact that Zephiel had already silenced any hope for a peaceful solution by slaying Hector, Guinevere still prayed that her audience with Roy of Pherae would bring peace between the two nations. 

As Ellen sank into one of the chairs in exhaustion, Guinevere had a moment to take stock of the tent's interiors. Much like the tent's outer appearance, the interior was sparsely decorated and only contained a few necessary items or books. Apparently, the Pheraen lordling practiced a near Spartan-like lifestyle, devoid of extravagance or pleasure. Several maps of Lycia were scattered on the table, along with a few leather bound books. Curious, Guinevere looked over the various tomes, searching for their titles and subjects. To her surprise, Guinevere found a few of her favorite titles amongst the half a dozen manuscripts, including History of Elibe: Scouring to Present, Of Valor and Honor, and… On Courtesy and Dancing? Why was this book, which contained descriptions of basic courtly manners and dancing lessons that nobles were supposed to have mastered by age ten, covered in notes and showing signs of constant study?

Guinevere, who loved to dance, frequently read the book to recall fond memories, but why would a Pheraen lordling bring such a book on the campaign? A small slip of paper fell out of the book as Guinevere disturbed its leaflets. Trying to replace the bookmark, Guinevere picked up the slip of paper, only to drop it in shock upon recognizing the words she had seen before.

_Ten years ago, a teenage Guinevere giggled as she finally unlocked the door to her tutor's room. Clouded in mystery, Master Xavier never mentioned where he came from or anything to do with his past. Curious, Guinevere was determined to venture inside her tutor's chambers and uncover any clue that could shed light on his history. After obtaining the keys from one of the guards, Guinevere embarked on her quest._

_Inside the room, Guinevere gasped when she saw the incredible amount of books that littered the room. Tomes and manuscripts of all kinds filled the many bookshelves that lined the walls. On the ground, several piles of abandoned maps and atlases were thrown in a haphazard fashion. The only source of light in the entire room came from a flickering candle atop Xavier's desk. Near the candle lay an open book and a feather-pen dipped in ink._

_Advancing quickly, Guinevere curiously picked up the book before taking a glance at its contents. From the freshly dried ink, Xavier had only written in here recently._

**A thousand years since the last Reckoning,**

**Unleash the flames of a second Scouring.**

**Unbent, Uncowed, Undaunted,**

**Fear not the wrath of Winter Unending.**

**-o- **

**Hidden beneath the veil of secrecy,**

**Entombed by unshakeable fallacy.**

**Wielder of Mercy's Folly,**

**Armor thyself with Death's Supremacy.**

_"That's odd, I could've sworn I closed the door when I left?"_

_In shock, Guinevere nearly dropped the book as she spun around. Standing in the doorway was a befuddled Xavier trying to find out where the door was. Moving his hand slowly in front of him, Xavier frowned as he tried to find the illusive handle._

_"Master Xavier," Guinevere said slowly, "I came inside before you."_

_"Princess Guinevere?" Xavier said in surprise, "What are you doing here? Have you finished your studies already?"_

_"Well, Master Xavier," Guinevere blushed in embarrassment, "I was going to borrow a few of your books. However, when I came inside, I found this poem written in the book on your table."_

_"You _read_ those lines?" Xavier's voice lowered abruptly, as if in anger._

_"Well, yes," Guinevere answered, "but I have no idea what the lines are talking about. Do they speak of the past Scouring?"_

_Xavier opened his blind eyes. His golden eyes seemed to search for any falsehood on Guinevere's face before he spoke._

_"They do not speak of a time, princess. They foretell the coming of a peerless crusader, whose strength of arm and mind will bring completion to this age."_

_

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_Chapter complete. Thank you for reading and please review if you have the time._


	5. Resolve

_Author's Corner:_

_Just when you all thought that Legacy of Valshannar had died..._

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**Legacy of Valshannar – Chapter Four**

**Resolve**

Though Aquelia could easily lay claim to the title of the most beautiful city in Elibe, its fame was certainly not derived from its secular nature. The only city in Elibe that could reasonably compete with Aquelia would be the capital city of Bern, but due to Bern's militaristic background, Aquelia far outstrips Bern in splendor and glory. Also known as the holy city where St. Elimine is interred, Aquelia boasts of fabulous churches and extravagant architecture. With the impressive Tower of the Saint looming tall and proud amidst a ring of centuries-old churches, Aquelia shone as the bastion of holiness and righteousness amongst the less-enlightened countries of Elibe. The Elimine Church unquestionably held the largest following in Elibe, gathering believers and worshippers from all classes and countries across Elibe. Nevertheless, regardless of nationality and culture, it is the wish of every believer to make a pilgrimage to the resting place of St. Elimine once in his or her lifetime. Regrettably, the advent of war across Elibe has forced many of these devout practitioners to delay their visit.

Even if foreign worshippers do not prostrate themselves before Her Holiness, the citizens of Etruria more than make up for their absence. From the lowest peasant to the powerful monarch, everyone in Etruria was a member of the Elimine Church. The Etrurians regularly prayed to their Saint every day as well as attended church sessions once every week. Additionally, every household carried a book of St. Elimine's teachings. Families who were too poor or illiterate memorized verses vocally and could obtain a copy from the Elimine Church free of charge. Anyone who refused the religion was largely ostracized from Etrurian society and quite literally forced to move elsewhere to survive. No one in Elibe took religion more seriously than the Etrurians.

However, a millennium of peace and prosperity has sown dissent within the ranks of the faithful. In the past, priests and bishops could be trusted beyond doubt to be good and upright, without a single evil thought to ever cross their devout minds. Unfortunately, the recent century has bred a new sort of cleric, a type that would have angered St. Elimine to no end if she were still alive. These corrupt ministers, hiding behind a veil of goodness and righteousness, are only intent on filling their pockets with gold and abuse their privileges by forcing their will upon the people.

It should not come as much of a surprise that the Terrascar Revolt was actually masterminded by a few priests that sought to upgrade their position in society. Though the actual revolution was carried out by the men and women who called themselves Terrascars, they received considerable 'spiritual' guidance from these false clerics. Hoping to profit from the revolution, the misguided priests and clerics showered the revolutionaries with false promises and blessings to encourage the revolution. As modern history has imparted, the Terrascar Revolution was mercilessly crushed by the infamous General Valshannar, who became known as the Hammer of Terrascars. Most of the priests who falsely led their unsuspecting flocks into the abyss were brought to light and prosecuted for their crimes. A fortunate few, however, escaped discovery and continued to 'serve' Etruria in other guises.

Percival and Cecilia were in no mood for the ramblings of a false priest today.

Entering through a pair of double-doors, the pair made their way into the Church of St. Godfrey, one of the largest churches in Aquelia. Though St. Godfrey was a magnificent building in its own right, the church was built for the general populace. As such, its grandeur paled in comparison to the beauty of the Dome of Ignis Sanctus, the church reserved for the ranking nobility and royalty. Nevertheless, St. Godfrey still had wonderful stain glass windows depicting scenes in the saint's life, sound marble floors surrounded by ageless stone walls, and a time-tested organ that was rumored to be a century old. Despite its somewhat lackluster wooden interior, both Percival and Cecilia preferred the pious, down-to-earth setting compared to the dazzling decorations in Ignis Sanctus that threatened to blind the eyes.

Inside the church doors, the area was packed with worshippers who were devoutly listening to the sermon. Speaking from the pulpit and nearly hidden behind a towering book of St. Elimine's teachings, the speaker's voice echoed through the chamber. Percival, initially trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker's face, gave up and joined Cecilia in searching the crowd for familiar faces. To their mutual shock, the two Etrurian Generals found themselves staring eye to eye with an old, white-haired man wearing a bishop's cloak.

"Bishop Yodel?" Percival asked, "What are you doing here? I thought you were giving the sermon today?"

The old bishop chuckled. "By and by, I'm not as youthful as you youngsters. Sometimes, these old bones require a break here and there."

"Then who's on the podium?" Cecilia asked. "From the voice, I'd wager the speaker is a female, but I don't recall any female priestesses serving at St. Godfrey?"

Bishop Yodel smiled benignly, "Cecilia, your ears must be getting old and stuffy like mine. You couldn't recognize the voice of your old friend?"

Behind the trio, the sermon drew to an end as the faithful gathered for prayer. Heaving a sigh of relief, the speaker closed the book tightly before mopping her brow. Leaving the pulpit, she made her way over to where Percival, Cecilia, and Yodel were standing.

"Long time no see, Cecilia," the priestess said while pulling off her white hood, allowing the woman's long pink hair to fall around her face.

"Serra?" Cecilia's eyes widened in surprise, "What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Lycia?"

Twenty years had certainly changed the appearance of the once spunky cleric. The spoiled, undisciplined teenager Serra once was had given way to the cultured, mature adult. Though still a fastidious follower of fashion, Serra had lent her formidable oratory skills to the Elimine Church. Her appearance, though aged somewhat, still retained the youthful optimism and unyielding strength of character that set Serra apart from her peers.

"Just goes to show how much you keep track of your old friends," Serra giggled, "I'm the primary liaison between the Mother Church and its Lycian branches. For the past twenty years, I've been drifting between Etruria and Lycia. Bishop Yodel invited me to speak in St. Godfrey today to help the relationship between the worshippers of the two countries."

Cecilia looked abashed, "My apologies, it's just that recently…"

"Everyone's been busy with the war afoot," Serra said, all traces of laughter gone from her face. "It's difficult to keep track of everyone when your country is in danger."

"I beg your pardon for interrupting," Percival said, "but do you have additional news from Lycia? The last report we received was that Bern and Lycia are preparing for a full scale confrontation at Castle Araphen."

"I have no further news," Serra said, "I was scheduled to arrive here with Matthew, but the undisciplined rascal took off, saying he'd be looking into Araphen. I have not heard from him or Lord Hector since."

Percival and Cecilia exchanged a glance. "That bodes ill," Percival said, "should Lycia succumb to Bern's onslaught, Etruria would potentially face enemies on three fronts. Yet even in this desperate hour, His Majesty is still wrapped around Lord Roartz's little finger. Those infernal no-"

Yodel coughed, "Sir Percival, some things are better spoken behind closed doors."

Percival caught himself. "My apologies, I spoke out of sorts."

"All is well," Serra said, taking a look left and right. "Well now, shall we go?"

"Go? Go where?" Cecilia asked.

Serra looked pointedly at her one-time tactician. "Cecilia, you're telling me that you _intentionally_ came late to a church sermon? On _this_ particular day you avoid the crowds and speak with Bishop Yodel privately? I remember _him_ just as well as you do, and I would definitely remember to pay my respects!"

Cecilia bowed her head in shame. "I apologize; I haven't been with many people that fondly remember my mentor. Not many in Elibe can say his name without a curse along with it. How many do you know that speak of his name openly?"

"Few indeed," Serra answered sadly, "Bishop Yodel, could you lead the way?"

"Of course, right this way," Bishop Yodel led the trio through several hallways, threading through the rooms of St. Godfrey. Exiting through a heavy, double bolted door, the quartet found themselves standing in the private graveyard of St. Godfrey's Church.

The graveyard only had a few dozen graves situated neatly next to one another. The noonday sunlight, filtered between the branches of several overhanging trees, danced and played over the headstones. A few birds chirped and flitted from tree to tree overhead but fell silent as the quartet moved towards one grave. The clouds dimmed the sunlight, as if denying one grave its fair share of warmth. A chilling wind blew through the clearing, scattering dead leaves and flowers. It was before this desolate-looking sepulcher that Yodel stopped. Unlike the other well-kept and cleaned headstones, this grave was the only one that showed signs of age. Moss was starting to grow around the headstone and weeds began climbing over the space where the corpse would lie. While flowers decked every other tomb, this one was bereft of any decoration or remembrance.

Cecilia moved forward and gently scraped away the moss that covered the carved words. Though carved twenty years ago and weather beaten, the words could still be read…

_Drake of Etruria_

_Tactician, Comrade and Friend_

_May you watch over our fair country forever…_

"I haven't been here in five years," Percival murmured. "Every year, this place seems to crumble a little more."

Serra looked bewildered. "I haven't even _seen_ this place since his coffin was moved from Ostia. Why is his resting place so barren? Do the acolytes even clean this place?"

"They do but nothing seems to help," Yodel sighed, "regardless of how much time they spend restoring his grave, nature has seen fit to ignore his existence. In a few more years, I wonder if the headstone will still be in one piece!"

"Are his sins so abominable that God cannot grant him a peaceful rest?" Cecilia murmured.

"That is blasphemy," Serra observed, "but nature seems to avoid this area like the plague."

"If he was guilty of sin, he was guilty only of serving his country," Yodel declared. "He sold his soul and humanity in service of Etruria. History and society may deride his callousness, but let us preserve his deeds and honor in our hearts."

Percival turned upon Yodel in surprise. "Bishop Yodel, you know of General Valshannar as well?"

"Know of him?" Yodel laughed, "I knew him before his legendary rise and unfortunate downfall. Before the lore masters and historians mangled his name, I was the only one who knew the truth behind the legend."

"What do you mean by truths, Bishop Yodel?" Cecilia asked.

Yodel held up one hand. "As a confessor, I shall not disclose the obscure designs he left behind. Whatever enigma he chose not to reveal in life, I shall not unveil after his death. You were his greatest student, Cecilia. You above all people would have the best chance at unraveling the clandestine arts of the Hammer of Terrascars."

Yodel knelt before the grave and respectfully began to pray. The trio, seeing that further questioning was useless, followed his example without a further word.

* * *

Half a hundred leagues away from Aquelia, a wholly secular activity was reaching a fever pitch. 

"Gut him!"

"Stand up, stand up, damn you! Gah, there goes a week's pay!"

"I won! Dear God, I actually…"

A swift slash of the sword, the last gasp of pain and the crowd roars with delight.

Not that this behavior was exceedingly rare in the gambling arena. In the Ostian arena, fortunes were made or lost in a matter of minutes, often with disastrous results quickly following. Though the typical Ostian citizen prized themselves for their frugality, the recent flood of refugees into Ostia had rapidly provided the arena with an endless tidal wave of income. Fallen upon lean times, innumerous of these drifters were attracted towards the coliseum, where they could vent their frustration by watching gladiators paint the arena floor red with blood.

The Ilian cavalier Noah walked past the frenzied horde of gamblers without raising an eyebrow. Though not exceptionally muscular, the cavalier's tall, lanky form wound its way through the masses in quest of the Combatant's Registration. Every would-be battler in the arena was obligated to register their name and obtain their appointment in the arena, or suffer the wrath of the guards. After seeing an ignorant bloke being thoroughly thrashed by two guards for breaking protocol, Noah mentally reminded himself never to run afoul of the rules. There wasn't enough left of the sorry carcass to call for a stretcher.

Applying a brief elbow jab into a fighter's back to clear a path, Noah successfully weaved through the crowd and arrived at his destination. The man at the registration desk, a scarred, hulking figure who styled himself the Master of Blood, picked out Noah's dark hair and pale countenance immediately. Turning briefly around, he pulled out a thick stack of papers from a shelf and deposited the stack on the counter before him, flicking off a stray spider in the process.

"So, you've come back for another round, eh?" The Master said, "How many fools are you going to wipe out today, four or five?"

"No need to exaggerate, Pedros," Noah said, "you know as well as I do that most of the time I limp through these tourney battles."

The Master looked Noah in the eye and then softened. "Feh, you know I don't let anybody save for my best fighters use that name, but I'll let you get away with that one. Hell, you say you barely scrape through battles, but at least you win every single one of them. Did you hear? The ole Don took a fall yesterday and didn't make it."

Noah looked at Pedros in shock. "You're joking, ole Don? That guy was looming as eternal as Elibe with that giant ax of his. I heard he made his name as the Devilish Don in the Western Isles with that ax!"

"Well, he's no demon now," Pedros grunted, "ole Don won 13 straight matches yesterday and underestimated the last challenger. Some wee little lass _accidentally _pricked the tendons of his right wrist with a sword. He won't be holding an ax again for the rest of his life. Strange thing is, the lass wouldn't stop apologizing for her, as she put it, stupidity and awful swordsmanship…?"

"Her awful swordsmanship handicapped ole Don in one blow?" Noah raised an eyebrow, "I'd like to see what she terms as _fantastic_ swordsmanship. Did you manage to catch the name of the challenger?"

"I don't recall her name," Pedros said, "I only remember that seems to be of Sacaen or Caledonian descent with a head of dark hair tied in a ponytail. Whatever her name is, ole Don is done for life."

"An entire life's work gone because of a moment's carelessness," Noah shook his head. "I'll do well to learn from his mistake. I take it he's retired now?"

"Yeah, it was the least I could do for him," Pedros said, "I set him up as a handler in the arena. Ole Dan may not be able to hold an ax, but a haymaker from one of those meaty fists of his could still send wee lad like you flying."

"I don't doubt it," Noah said. "Anyways, let's talk about something more positive than ole Don's retirement. Can you find me a spot in the lineup today?"

Pedros looked Noah up and down before smiling wryly. "I did better than that, Noah old boy. You're taking over ole Don's position as champion."

Noah's jaw dropped, "What?"

"You heard me," Pedros pointed a dirty nail at Noah, "Ostia's clamoring for a show, and I won't be the one to disappoint them. You've got the best track record so far with 23 wins and 0 losses. In terms of seniority, some of the older bravos rank higher than you, but they're also too old to handle this business. Ole Don was an exception for his age. So I'm throwing you in against God knows what during the three candle marks after noon."

"I was right, you _do_ hate me," Noah said.

Pedros laughed, "Kid, I tell you the truth. Nothing makes me happier than watching some other poor wretch writhe in pain. Good luck to you, you're going to need it."

Two candle marks later, Noah found himself mounted and armored behind the gate leading to the arena grounds. Looking around him, Noah couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the foul smells permeating through the entire chamber. The barred exit out of the tunnel where he was standing was the closest location to fresh air, yet the entire place still reeked of dried blood and sweat. Countless gladiators and fighters had came and left through this entryway, covered in blood and gore, which more often than not came from their own bodies. More than once, Noah himself had to be hauled out of the arena due to extreme exhaustion and blood loss. It galled the Ilian to no end that, despite the close calls, painful wounds, and endless battles, he had returned here again and again to fight.

_And what is it that I'm fighting for?_ Noah thought bitterly, _I come here to spill my blood and put my life at risk only so that some greedy gambler would get his grubby hands on a pile of gold? Or is it an inherent of humanity to ceaselessly find new battlefields to test their valor and strength? From what I've seen, humans are barbarians with no semblance of virtue, only striving to butcher one another on the path to power and wealth._

"Nervous?"

Noah turned his head towards the sound of the voice. To his left, a bulky warrior clad in heavy armor with a tournament seal pinned over his left breast was sharpening an ax. Directing his attention from his ax to Noah, the arena guard stopped his work to look at the cavalier.

"Can't say I am," Noah replied, "I've risked my life quite a few times in this arena already. Why do you ask?"

The guard grunted. "Well, I couldn't care either way, but the guys upstairs are pretty agitated over today's outcome. Word is that you are _heavily_ favored to survive the full two candle marks against all comers. Anyone offer you an incentive to throw the match?"

"Throw the match by dying?" Noah laughed, "And how much would they offer me to throw my life away?"

"But you can yield," the guard's eyes glittered craftily.

"Throw in the towel, huh?" Noah asked, "How would that benefit me?"

"Well, my young whippersnapper, if you were out here to make a fortune rather than getting some exercise like you are now, there's a jackpot to hit today," the guard said. "With the ten to odds favoring you so heavily, all you need to do is bet your wallet _against_ yourself and resign. Now that's a solid thousand percent interest! 'Course, you'll end up annoying the hell out of your backers, but who the hell cares?"

"By giving up, I'd dishonor my brigade, and that above all must be avoided," Noah said. "Otherwise, I might be seriously tempted to take your offer."

The guard shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me whether you win or lose, buddy. Ach, there's the signal. I better open the gate and let you get yourself killed."

As soon as the guard opened the gate, Noah nudged his horse out of the opening into broad daylight. The sands of the arena ground was already dyed a rusty red from previous engagements. To the left side of the entryway where Noah came from, a high platform was erected for a panel of three judges. Usually, there was no need for arbitration, considering the loser was quite dead to the world, but there were always exceptions. Despite the powerful afternoon sun beating down on the unprotected spectators, the fervor and bloodlust of the crowd only seemed to increase two-fold. At the sight of Noah, the crowd roared with approval, exhorting the Ilian to split his opponent in two with one quick jab of the lance. Many in the stands were already hooting and jeering at the challenger before the match even began. When Noah noticed exactly _who_ they were mocking, he was about to question his eyesight.

Standing four dozen yards away from Noah in the center of the pit was a young girl with her dark hair tied up in a ponytail. Her innocent white and teal outfit looked shockingly out of place amongst the dull crimson of death. What amazed Noah the most, however, was the iron determination that could be seen emitting from her eyes, a look that was quite daunting to say the least. Well, that was the most amazing detail until Noah looked at the wooden practice sword she held in her right hand.

Cocking his head this way and that, Noah was perplexed to find the girl bereft of any killing weapon. Unless the challenger possessed the skill to penetrate his plate mail with a blunt wooden stick, Noah could not decipher any other means of victory.

Frowning with displeasure, the girl spoke. "Sir, you do know that openly staring at a Sacaen is considered rude and impolite?"

It was then that Noah realized he was staring at the girl for quite some time. Embarrassed at his audacity, Noah apologized. "I apologize for my transgression, but I was endeavoring to find the weapon you are carrying?"

The girl held up the wooden sword, "You mean this?"

Noah coughed, "Excuse me, Miss…"

"My name is Fir."

"Miss Fir then," Noah said, "you are going to try and _kill_ me with a wooden stick that has no sharpened side?"

Fir blinked in confusion. "Kill? Who said we had to kill one another?"

Noah resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead, "You do realize that we are in an arena, correct?"

She didn't get it. "And your point is?"

"And you do know that the entire objective of fighting in an arena is to mercilessly, cruelly slash, hack, maim, and kill one another for the sake of prize money, right?"

Fir looked at her wooden sword as if seeing it for the first time. "Oh…"

Noah quirked an eyebrow at her expression, "If you don't mind me asking, who the devil allowed you into the arena tourney with a wooden sword?"

At that point, the crowd, getting impatient due to the lacking of fighting, began to clamor for Noah to hew down Fir where she stood. Annoyed, Noah turned to the loudest part of the crowd and gave them a universally understood hand signal. The hissing died down somewhat, but still continued unabated.

Fir snapped out of her reverie, "I only came into the arena to improve my swordsmanship skills, but I never wanted to hurt anyone! My mother was a famous swordswoman in her time, so I hoped to emulate her example. The other day, I nearly severed the hand of this giant ax man, so I didn't want to repeat the same scenario."

Noah looked at her in shock, "_You_ were the one who took out ole Dan?"

Fir blushed. "Was that his name? Well, yes, but…"

_She is young still, and innocent in her ideals, _Noah thought. _The way of the sword is a terrible path, but it gladdens my heart to see people like her pursuing the path of the blade without harboring the thought of injuring others. Perhaps there is still hope for us all._

"I can give you a hand in your training, if you want," Noah said.

"You would?" Fir said in surprise, "But how do we get out…"

"Simple," Noah gestured to get the attention of the judges, "I resign."

When Noah's words fully registered in the ears of the crowd, complete chaos erupted. There was a stampede of spectators demanding their money back as well as gamblers trying to weasel their way out of the deals they struck. Whole scale pandemonium reigned in the Ostian arena. Noah could not have cared less.

"I think, Fir, you might want to curtail your stay at Ostia after our training session."

"Why?"

"Consider the fact that nearly half the gambling population of Ostia is ready to murder the 'harmless' female that caused them to lose their money."

"I see your point. I thank you for your advice, Sir…?"

"Noah, just call me Noah."

* * *

Atop the ramparts of Castle Thria, a pale green banner bearing an upright bear was slowly being raised by the soldiers on duty. The lackluster effort employed in the task seemed to emulate the lack of confidence the men had in their lord's health. Far from being a secret, the details of Lord Orun's losing battle with his illness were public knowledge. With no news from the embattled Alliance forces at Castle Araphen and the recent decline of their liege lord, Thrian citizens were naturally on edge and fearful for the future. Lord Orun, half-brother to Hector and Uther, was a wise and generous ruler that hardly imposed his will on his subjects. With his heir away at Araphen, no one wanted the ruling lord to suddenly die in office. 

Though kin to the lords Uther and Hector, Orun never achieved the same political standing as his half-brothers. Born an illegitimate child of Lord Pellius, the previous lord of Ostia, Orun was shunned throughout his youth as a shameful abomination. His half-brothers, however, freely defended him and welcomed his company into their midst, never caring that his birth was far below theirs. Granted, Orun's status would naturally forfeit his claim to the Ostian throne, hereby presenting no threat to Uther or Hector's inheritance. Since the identity of Orun's mother was never disclosed, Orun alone of the three brothers would receive no titles or lands.

Fortunately for Orun, his mother was uncovered to be of Thrian peerage on his fifteenth birthday. With no one to rule after his death, the Thrian marquess named Orun his heir. Thus, Orun was nearly elevated to peerage overnight, though he would never challenge Uther or Hector for the throne of Ostia. Before ascending the throne, Orun regularly assisted Uther in politics and served as Lycia's ambassador to Etruria. Shortly before Hector took part in the legendary Campaign of Fire, Orun was formally declared the Marquess of Thria and began his rule at the age of thirty. His rule proved to be peaceful and prosperous for the Thrian province and he worked with Ostia closely for the next twenty years.

However, brilliant mornings often give way to rainy afternoons. A few days after Orun's son, Pandarus, left the castle bound for Araphen with fifty men, the health of the Thrian marquess quickly deteriorated. In less than a week, Lord Orun seemed to succumb to the deadly epidemic that was sweeping its way across Thria. Despite the best efforts of Lord Orun's personal physician and advisor, a priest by the name of Wagner, the marquess' health continued to decline day by day.

With Wagner's potions and recipes doing little to help Lord Orun's illness, doubts began to arise concerning the man's abilities. Some claimed that he once embezzled funds from Lord Orun's coffers. Others commented on the strange, arcane magic that lay at his fingertips instead of the holy light that priests were supposed to call upon. Still others were uneasy at the manner which he seemed to step into Lord Orun's shoes and reign over Thria in his stead. Heedless of any consequences, Wagner quickly expelled or imprisoned anyone that was caught maligning his name. That stopped the whisperings for a while, but the doubts lingered and multiplied exponentially. People high and low muttered to one another regarding the suspicious activities of the advisor, but they were powerless to do anything while the soldiers of Thria obeyed him.

At the moment, Wagner was hurrying through the halls towards Lord Orun's bedchamber. The illness had taken such a toll upon the marquess that he was confined to bed with scarcely the energy or wits to eat and drink. Lord Orun, incapacitated as he was, spent the majority of his waking hours feverish and moaning in delirium. Everyday, Wagner mixed a special potion that helped to calm the marquess, which the marquess quaffed like wine to ease his pain. Bearing today's potion in his hands, Wagner was stopped outside of the marquess' bedchamber by the guard on duty.

"What is the meaning of this?" Wagner said sharply, "You dare to stop me, soldier?"

The guard bowed, "My apologies, sir. Lord Orun is currently speaking with the Sacaen lady that wandered into Thria a few days ago. He gave orders to allow no one to enter."

Wagner frowned at the memory. The Sacaen nomad, identifying herself as Sue, had apparently fled the sack of Bulgar to seek asylum in Lycia. Suspicious of her background, Wagner had originally rejected her appeal for refuge, but was overruled by Lord Orun. Sick as he was, Lord Orun was appalled that anyone seeking safety in Thria was turned away. After speaking with Sue, Lord Orun uncovered that she was actually the daughter of Lady Lyndis, the Noble Lady of Caelin that his brother had often spoken about. Deciding that he'd rather die than abandon the daughter of his brother's friend, Lord Orun had gladly offered her a place to stay in Thria. Since her arrival, Lord Orun's condition has improved dramatically, which rather downplays Wagner's effectiveness.

Wagner pulled out a small bag of gold and deposited it into the hands of the guard. "This says that you can let me through."

The guard looked at it for a moment and moved aside with the money.

Inside the bedchamber, Lord Orun and Sue looked up to see Wagner walking in with his medication. The Sacaen girl had long green hair that flowed to her waist, though a brightly colored hair band around her forehead kept the strands from her face. The coarse robes she wore bore signs of travel and combat, but she wore them more proudly than any highborn lady would wear a beautifully tailored dress. Typical of Sacaens that could not identify the contents of a mysterious liquid, Sue wrinkled her brow as she gazed suspiciously at the bottle in Wagner's hands. Lord Orun coughed painfully before raising himself in bed to drink the potion.

"Ah, Wagner," Orun said, "have you increased the potency like I've told you?"

"Yes, milord," Wagner answered, "I understand you urgency and need of health during these troubled times. As per your orders, I have _doubled_ the usual amount. I would have brought this to you sooner, but I fear that some rat has been poaching from the storage room. I had to visit the convent in the city to procure the materials."

"Excellent," Orun said feverishly, "it'd do my brother Hector no good for me to be vegetating away in Thria without being able to help him. I must be at my best to welcome Pandarus home when he brings news of victory!"

Wagner smiled inwardly at his words. "Drink, milord, and you will be much better."

"Hold," Sue said as Orun was reaching for the bottle. "Has anyone else tasted the contents of this medication yet?"

"What are you insinuating at, milady?" Wagner stifled the urge to glare at Sue. "Are you saying that I am plotting against my liege lord?"

"We Sacaens always believed that Father Sky's natural remedies are the best for curing fevers or maladies," Sue said, fixing her own glare at Wagner. "I for one do not trust in potions that no one else dares to drink!"

"Why, I have drunk this in the past," Wagner lied, "and I believe I stand before you in good health."

"My dear," Orun said to Sue, "you do ill to suspect Wagner so. He has served Thria loyally and truly for the past twenty years and stands little to gain if I should die. After all, Pandarus is my only heir to the throne."

"But…"

_Damn you, girl, just shut up and sit nicely like a doll! _Wagner hurried to support his lord. "Milord speaks truly. Have no fear, sire, I will have you healthy as normal without a second's delay. Now, drink."

After Orun drank half the contents of the bottle, he pushed it away coughing. Seeing that he'd finish it later, Wagner quickly took the flask from his lord's shaking hands.

"Now, Sue," Orun sank heavily back into the cushions, "what were you talking about before Wagner came in?"

"I was speaking of the green plains of grass in Sacae," Sue said, her voice filled with longing. "With Bern allying with the Djute, it is unlikely that I'll ever set foot in the free lands of Sacae. The Kutolah are scattered to the four winds, and I do not know if Grandpapa has the resources to pull us back together. Father Sky as witness, no one even knows that I am in Lycia!"

"That is impossible," Orun said suddenly, "why, I believe that a rider from Sacae came two days ago looking for you! Is that not right, Wagner?"

"Yes, milord," Wagner replied, "a Sacaen nomad with a green bandana tied over his hair was inquiring for your whereabouts, milady. I believe he said his name was Shin?" _Damn him, and damn his memory as well. At least I got that one out of my hair by directing him towards Badon._

"Shin…" Sue's eyes widened, "I can't believe he strayed so far from the plains to look for me. Does that mean Grandpapa is gathering the tribe again? I must return to find out!"

"You will do no such thing alone!" Orun said. "What if you were ambushed or taken by the enemy? I would never be able to face Hector if I told him that the daughter of his best friend was taken due to my negligence. Nay, when I am healthy, I will personally see you off with an escort of fifty men!"

"Milord, this is too much…" Sue trailed off as Orun began coughing heavily, "Milord?"

"Pain…" Orun gasped out, "What is happening…? Has my time come at last? Wagner, quick, bring me the bottle!"

"Of course, milord," Wagner produced the medication. "Drink deeply and your troubles will be no more."

"Stop," Sue said in a voice of iron, fixing a steely gaze upon Wagner. "This time, I _insist_ you drink this potion in front of us."

"What are you rambling about?" Wagner demanded.

"Lord Orun was doing perfectly fine until he drank from that infernal potion of yours," Sue declared. "Now, I want you to prove it that you are no fraud. Drink and prove that your potion is indeed _twice as potent as you say_!"

Orun glanced back and forth between the two. "What… is going on…?"

Wagner raised the bottle and looked at it out of one eye. "So, milady, it appears that you have finally caught on."

Sue stiffened and Orun gazed at Wagner incredulously. "Wagner, what is the meaning of this…?"

"Simply this," Wagner barked, "Guards!"

The doors to the bedchamber burst open and a dozen soldiers armed to the teeth burst in. Surrounding Sue and Orun, the soldiers looked to Wagner for orders.

"I was hoping that this trinket would do the task for me," Wagner waved the corked bottle in his hands. "However, it appears that I don't need it any more." With that said, Wagner hurtled the bottle against the wall, where it was smashed to a hundred little pieces that rained potion on the floor. As soon as the drops touched the stone floor, it sizzled angrily.

The truth dawning upon him at last, Orun was furious. "So that is your game, Wagner! You wish to poison your own liege lord! When my son returns, you will hang for this!"

"Calm yourself milord," Wagner drawled, "you will waste what life is left in your veins."

Sue drew a dagger from her belt, "You will not get away with this!"

"Actually, I believe I will," Wagner sneered. "Guards, take this woman and throw her into the dungeons."

"Sir," one of the guards said, "what shall we do with Lord Orun?"

"Gag him and leave the old relic here to rot to death," Wagner said contemptuously. "You have your orders, now get to it!"

After the guards tied Orun to the bed and hauled Sue away, Wagner walked victoriously next to the marquess' bed. Seeing the vengeful flashes that emitted from Orun's eyes, Wagner smirked slightly.

"Now, now, milord, no need to be so angry," Wagner said silkily. "You must be wondering how I subverted the soldiers so easily. Well, it would certainly be tragic to die without knowing the manner of your death, so I'll explain. Bern offered me a sum of money that was simply too large to refuse, and only a small portion of that was needed to secure their support. After all, with you gone, I will be master of Thria."

Gagged and unable to speak, Orun snorted and muttered something unintelligible through the gag.

"What was that, milord?" Wagner pretended to cock his ears and listen. "Oh, I understand, you believe that Sir Pandarus will return victorious and hang me from the nearest gallows, correct? Well, I hate to inform you, milord, but Castle Araphen has fallen. Lord Hector, Sarpedon, and Sir Pandarus were all tragically lost in combat. The war is over, Lord Orun, and just as my star is rising in value, the sun is setting for Lycia. Now do me a favor and die quickly, will you?"

Ignoring the horrified look in his one-time master's eyes, Wagner turned sharply on the heel and quitted the room. Behind him, the doors slammed closed, leaving Lord Orun alone to slowly contemplate his doom.

* * *

"I beg pardon, milady, for making you wait so long." 

Guinevere looked up from the slip of paper she was reading to see someone's form outlined against the tent flap. Hastily replacing the paper within the book, Guinevere quickly set the book down on the table before waking Ellen. As the cleric groggily regained consciousness, Guinevere bade the visitor to enter the tent.

The tent flap was thrown aside as the visitor entered, allowing the bright sunlight to filter into the tent's interior. Gauging from his youthful appearance, Guinevere guessed that the boy was more than fifteen years old, with a head of flaming red hair that matched perfectly with the sapphire blue armor he wore. Garbed and armored for war, the boy wore a blue headband across his forehead while a rapier was sheathed by his side. Across his breastplate, the Pheraen Falcon was in full flight, proudly displaying its curved beak and sharp talons. Stopping just inside the tent flap, the boy bowed respectfully towards Guinevere. Maintaining her proper rank while addressing the newcomer, Guinevere nodded regally in return. Following her mistress's example, Ellen bowed her head in greeting as well.

"Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Guinevere asked.

"Milady," the youth answered, "I am Roy, the son of Marquess Eliwood of Pherae. If what Alan reported to me was correct, I believe I have the honor of addressing Her Highness Guinevere of Bern?"

_His speech is not tinged with flattery like the courtiers I've seen at court. Is it true that the lords of Pherae are honest and just despite their humble backgrounds and upbringing?_ Guinevere nodded, "You are correct, Lord Roy. I have departed Bern in secret to speak with the Lycian League in hopes of bringing this war to a peaceful ending. If I was not sidetracked by pursuing soldiers, I might have been able to make contact with Lord Hector before my brother reached Araphen. Delayed, I was just able to cross the border with my attendant, Ellen."

"Pardon me, milady, for suspecting your intentions," Roy began, "but it is your own august brother that started this war against Elibe. Your Highness is his only sister and would try to stop his plans?"

"I understand that my actions may seem incredible," Guinevere replied. "However, it does not change the fact that my brother's war is costing the lives of countless innocent people. Having failed to dissuade my brother's course of action, I cannot sit still while Elibe suffers for his madness."

"I see. Unfortunately, I must inform you that there has been no news from Castle Araphen since the Bern Army began the siege," Roy answered. "I am currently leading Pherae's mounted knights towards Castle Araphen in hopes of breaking the siege when Your Highness caught up with us."

"But Lord Roy," Ellen interrupted, "Her Highness has told me that there are fully one thousand elite Bern soldiers deployed against Araphen. Counting the mercenaries that the Princess and I ran into, you barely command 120 soldiers. How can you possibly hope to break the siege outnumbered nearly eight to one?"

"Miss Ellen, it is not a matter of odds or numbers, it is a matter of principle," Roy said. "My father is a lord, just as I hope to be one day. As a Lord of Lycia, it is our duty to defend the Alliance against all who invade our homeland. We pledged our sacred honor to uphold the oaths we swore to Lord Hector in the common defense of Lycia. Even if my entire command and I are to give battle against impossible odds with no chance of victory, we will still charge forward into certain death and defeat. An honorable death is far better than a life of shame."

"You cannot change anything in death," Guinevere protested. "You are still young, Lord Roy, and might live for another fifty years. Why throw away your life so pointlessly?"

"Freedom is worth such a price," Roy answered. "To live and breathe the free air, to defy tyranny and protect the oppressed, what is more valuable than freedom? Before being a noble, a peer or a lord of Lycia, I am first and foremost a knight. Knights lead by both deeds and example, and I am not exception. Even if I should die, future generations can look back upon my actions and take heart that even a youth of fifteen did falter from his path."

"You are willing to die just to set an example?" Ellen was incredulous.

"There are certain laws that go beyond the call for life, priestess," Roy said. "Better to die in battle than to suffer a life of slavery."

For a moment, Guinevere was struck with astonishment at how easily the words came from the boy's lips. Roy had, without hesitation and concealment, declared his willingness to die to fulfill his word of honor. Here was a boy standing at the dawn of his life could stare unflinchingly into the yawning jaws of death without betraying a hint of fear. If every lord in Lycia possessed this youth's courage and loyalty, no country on the face of Elibe would ever dare to invade Lycia!

Overcoming her surprise, Guinevere said, "Naturally, all this may be avoided should Bern and Lycia agree to a ceasefire. There is no need for continued hostilities if Elibe could be reverted to its original, peaceful state."

"That is correct," Roy agreed. "If Your Highness is able to speak with Lord Hector, I'm sure a satisfactory treaty could be signed between the two nations…"

"I do hope that I am not intruding, but…" A voice drifted into the tent.

Reacting instinctively to the outburst, Roy whirled around and half-drew the rapier by his side. Standing between Guinevere and the tent opening, Roy challenged the newcomer.

"Who goes there?"

"Please be at ease, I come in peace," the tent flap opened and two people walked in. The first was a blue-haired man dressed in the robes of a typical Elimine priest and the second was a female archer with brown hair that had a smattering of freckles on her face. The blue-haired priest opened his mouth to speak, then caught sight of Guinevere and promptly closed his mouth to stare. It took a discreet elbow in the ribs from the female archer to bring the priest's attention back to Roy.

"Ah, pardon me for my rudeness," the priest winced from the blow, "it is not often that I see a beautiful…"

"Father Saul," the archer quipped, "I believe the bishop expressly ordered you _not_ to…?"

The priest stopped short and leveled a short glare at the female before redirecting his attention to Roy. "Once again I apologize for my _companion's_ tactlessness," the priest said, "My name is Saul, a priest in service of the Elimine Church, and this is Dorothy, my companion also working for the church."

"I gave orders that the soldiers within this camp to allow Tuscanny citizens to freely enter, but I do not recall allowing anyone to eavesdrop on state secrets," Roy said steely. "You are stepping over your boundaries, Father Saul."

Saul's expression shifted to one of shocked astonishment. "Lord Roy, you wound me! I am but a humble priest serving at the local church here in Tuscanny, how could you so quickly alienate churchmen?" Dorothy made move to speak, but was silenced by Saul's hand gesture.

"You are from Tuscanny?" Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Of course, I swear it upon…"

"Save your oaths, I do not believe you," Roy's gaze hardened. "Young as I am, even I know the difference between a Tuscannian accent and an Etrurian one. I have studied in Etruria, Father Saul, so please do not try to deceive me."

"I… uh…"

"Father Saul…" Dorothy shook her head in exasperation, "There is no need to hide the truth any longer. Yes, Lord Roy, the two of us are from Etruria and were ordered by Bishop Yodel to seek the whereabouts of Princess Guinevere."

Roy and Guinevere exchanged a glance.

"The, how should I put it, _intelligence_ regarding Your Highness's proposal for peace was discovered after you departed Bern," Saul said, trying in vain to salvage something of his dignity. "This information has been withheld from general knowledge in Bern, but several operatives of the Elimine Church managed to salvage some documents before they were burnt. The church branch in Bern leaked that information to the mother church, and the Council of Cardinals has agreed that peace is of the utmost priority. As such, operatives have been dispatched all over Elibe to search for Your Highness."

"How did you find my location so quickly?" Guinevere asked.

"Our superiors reasoned that Your Highness would be seeking an audience with the Lycian lords," Dorothy explained. "Since most of the ranking lords are joining Lord Hector at Castle Araphen, we began to search the entourages of the various lords journeying to Araphen. As Your Highness is obviously not at Araphen, we naturally looked towards the only Lycian detachment that has not reached Araphen yet."

Ellen spoke up. "Miss Dorothy, you expressly said that Her Highness is obviously not at Araphen. How did you manage to make such a deduction?"

"Nothing short of an educated guess," Saul answered simply. "Seeking Her Highness in Araphen would be pointless since the castle has already fallen to Bern."

Raising his head rapidly in disbelief, Roy turned a stricken gaze towards Saul. It was then that Guinevere saw the true side of the young Pheraen Lord. Disbelief, shock, and dismay chased one another across the boy's face before he ironed his features into a more neutral stance. Brow furrowed, Roy appeared to be deep in thought for a moment before he came to a decision. Without a word, the young lord swept from the tent and departed in haste.

_He is still a boy,_ Guinevere realized, _a boy who has never seen the harsh rigors of war. His father is ill and unfit for command, which thrusts the mantle of duty and responsibility onto the unconfident shoulders of youth. He is not ready for the task before him. The words he said earlier were only imitations of what his father would've done in his place. He puts on a bold and reassured front in order to calm his subordinates, but inside, he must be a wreck of indecisiveness and confusion. Alas, he should be spending the remains of his childhood playing with friends, not leading a small regiment on a path of death!_

"You did not have to be so harsh, Father Saul," Dorothy noted, displeasure painted over her freckled face.

Saul's gaze was grim. "I did what was necessary, Dorothy, for the sake of our mission."

"What mission are you talking about?" Guinevere asked.

"Simply this," Saul turned his gaze towards Guinevere, "Your Highness, do you have _it_ with you?"

_How can they know about that?_ Guinevere moved back a step. "And why does the Elimine Church need to know?" The princess demanded.

Saul raised both hands in protest. "I meant no harm in asking! I am only following orders!"

"I will choose to reveal that information at the time of my choosing," Guinevere said. "That should satisfy your superiors." Saul and Dorothy looked at one another. Dorothy shook her head, mutely telling Saul not to pursue the issue.

"Your Highness," Dorothy said, "I pray that you will forgive our transgression, but we are under orders to accompany you until we are satisfied with our findings." With that, the pair quitted the tent, leaving Guinevere and Ellen alone.

Looking at her mistress, Ellen could not help but ask, "Will Lord Roy be able to handle…?" Ellen could not finish the rest of her question. Anyone in a similar situation would falter at the strain of salvaging a decimated war, let alone a young man of fifteen!

Her answer came with shocking rapidity. Outside the tent, a clarion horn was sounded to rally the knights of Pherae for battle. The once peaceful atmosphere was instantly exchanged for the warlike fervor of an army preparing to depart. Heavy footsteps ran to and fro as knights began to dismantle the camp for departure. Here and there, knights were calling for the aid of their squires as they struggled into their full plated armor. Excited whisperings quickly spread throughout the camp that the Pheraen Knights were marching to battle the tyrannical Bern Army at Castle Araphen.

Fate has called and Pherae shall answer.

* * *

Twenty years are more than enough to change the face of man and land alike. As time goes on, men lose the resolve and fire they possessed in their youth while cities slowly crumble into rubble. With the fire of war scouring Elibe from one end to another, there was scarcely anything that could maintain the status quo. 

Badon was a notable exception. As the primary port in all Lycia, there was always business flowing in and out of Badon. Regardless of the hard times and perilous future, a mug of beer and the warmth of female companionship were capable of reliving any man of his troubles for at least a while. Those down on their luck could always find drinking buddies to drown their sorrows in drink. Men who were desperate enough would dare the infamous gambling dens, where fortunes were instantly made or lost. After losing every last copper penny in their pockets, the distressed drunkards would be unceremoniously dumped outside to beg. A common saying amongst the Badon residents was, _It doesn't matter what the world comes to, so long as money flows into our pockets._ This is how it was always done in Badon. No one bothered the port city, and Badon did not concern itself with the business of others.

That didn't stop Shin from raising an eyebrow at the dust-covered, destitute streets crowded with beggars and drunkards. As far as his eyes could see, Badon was filled with taverns, casinos, and countless… brothels.

Now that he was standing in Badon, Shin understood why Rath and Lady Lyndis abhorred the city with a passion. Everything that Badon stood for ran contrary to Sacaen beliefs. While Badon seemed to consume more alcohol than water, Sacaens were perpetually sober and never touched alcohol in their lives. Where gamblers blew fortunes on pointless gambling and bets, Sacaens never possessed a need for money, choosing to barter their hand-made goods. Finally, the appalling amount of lives lost in the alleys and arenas would've been an anathema to the life-respecting Sacaens that grieved for the animals they ate. It was no wonder that Rath and Lady Lyndis swore never to set foot in the city again.

_Why would Lady Sue come to such a dismal and godless place? _Shin shook his head as he thought back to the words he had exchanged with the Thrian magistrate, Wagner. Heeding the orders of Chief Dayan, Shin was intent on bringing Sue back to the Kutolah remnants. The man had claimed that Sue had only stayed in Thria for a few short days before departing for the Western Isles. Since Badon was the closest location that provided transportation by sea, Shin hoped to find some clues to Sue's current whereabouts.

_Still, the magistrate's words do not explain why Lady Sue would venture into lands so far from Sacae,_ Shin thought. _The only explanation would be that Lady Sue inherited this wanderlust from her parents, since both had ventured far and wide during their youth._

Despite his misgivings, Shin steeled himself and plunged into the crowd with his horse in tow. Shrugging off invitations from barmaids and whores alike, Shin shouldered his way through the crowd, only stopping once to deliver a crushing blow to an audacious pickpocket trying to relieve him of his wallet. Admittedly, Shin might have penetrated the crowd in a swifter fashion while mounted on his horse, but the wary Sacaen prudently chose not to. On one hand, the crowd was so densely packed that if Shin rode through the crowd, some unlucky soul might be trampled beneath the hooves. On the other hand, Shin was a stranger in an unfamiliar territory. Why sit on a horse and provide a much larger target for any would-be assassin or mugger?

As Shin threaded through the streets of Badon, he noticed that the crowds grew less rowdy and more sober as he drifted towards the docks. Perplexed, Shin stopped and took stock of his surroundings. Admittedly, the number of taverns and whorehouses had not decreased as Shin drew closer to the docks, so what could be the cause of this? The burly sailors and merchant marines gathered in small groups, talking to one another in hushed tones. As Shin turned his head towards the docks, he understood why this particular area of Badon lacked the good cheer compared to the rest of the city.

From where eye could see, fully half of the docks were filled with ships. Normally, there would be crews and sailors hurrying along, loading the cargo and prepping the ship for departure. Otherwise, new arrivals would be unloading their merchandise and bargaining with would-be buyers. However, the docks were eerily silent, with sailors and captains shuffling their feet and staring at their motionless ships. Not a single bale of cargo could be seen on the docks, waiting to be loaded on board any of the ships.

Quirking an eyebrow, Shin was just about to ask one of the passing sailors when someone else caught his attention.

"Fine, I give up! I'll just look elsewhere for passage!"

A young girl with a knapsack over one shoulder threw her hands in the air and stomped off. Flicking her dark black hair over the shoulder, she brushed aside the pleadings and excuses of a sea captain, leaving the unfortunate man standing there helplessly. When the man tried to grab her arm, the girl put a hand on the sword by her side. The captain quickly decided that he had overplayed his hand and withdrew in a hurry.

"Sacaens," the captain muttered as he left, "the only good Sacaen is a dead…"

Shin momentarily considered whether to send an arrow after the ignorant fool, but quickly squelched that idea. Lady Lyndis had taught him that turning people into porcupines for uncouth remarks was hardly something to be done in public. Sadistic pleasure should only be practiced in secret. Taking his eyes off the retreating figure, Shin tried to find the young Sacaen girl in the crowd. He didn't have to look very far. The young girl's white and teal clothes stood out amongst the grimy and dark colors of Badon like a lit candle in the darkness.

_Sacaens must help Sacaens, regardless of where we are in Elibe,_ Shin thought as he jogged to catch up, his horse following behind him.

Hearing footsteps rapidly approaching, the young girl huffed and shouted without turning her head. "For the last time, mister, I don't care when you sail for Etruria! I only want to head for the Western Isles!"

Shin raised an eyebrow. "Father Sky as witness, I have no idea what you are talking about."

Hearing that the voice was different, the young girl turned around. Noticing her mistake, the girl blushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry! I thought you were that stupid captain trying to persuade me to sail for Etruria."

"I see," Shin nodded. "My name is Shin, a Kutolah nomad also seeking passage to the Western Isles. I was wondering if you know anyone sailing there."

"I am Fir, pleased to meet you," Fir replied. "Unfortunately, I think I'm going to disappoint you. It seems that no one here," Fir glared at the docks, "has enough guts to do such a simple task."

"Missy, that's because ye haven't been kept up to date on the war," an old voice wheezed from behind them.

Shin and Fir turned around to find an old man drinking from a tankard while leaning against several wooden crates. He was wrapped in dirty garments and was wearing a hat that looked like a seagull's nest.

Bowing politely to them, the old man began to speak. "I was a sailor in my youth, but I retired several years back to enjoy my savings. Them fools won't sail for the Western Isles because the Etrurian Navy has blockaded the islands."

"They've done what?" Fir asked, "But I thought Etruria owns the Western Isles. Why would they blockade their own property?"

"Because them islands are valuable, missy," the old sailor coughed. "Them isles have enough metals and wealth to make any would-be conqueror froth at the mouth. Etruria wants to keep the islands in her back pocket, so they dispatched the navy to keep anybody suspicious out. All the traders that ship between the islands and Badon are out of work. No one's stupid enough to risk the wrath of the Etrurian Navy for a tiny profit."

"Then is there no way to sail for the Western Isles?" Shin asked.

"I didn't say that," the old man said, "If you're intent on going, you could always speak with the pirates. Them fools are crazy enough to do anything when they got the scent of adventure and glory in their noses."

"Pirates?" Fir wrinkled her nose, "Where can we find them?"

"Go to the Leaping Leviathan, tallest building in the city. Ask for Anna. She'll get you set up real quick."

It was hard to miss the Leaping Leviathan, considering that the inn towered over the section of the wharves it was located. It was also the only building that looked like it was swept regularly. The establishment had an aura of cleanliness and tidiness that belied its merchandise.

As Shin tethered his horse to a nearby post, Fir couldn't keep in her nervousness. "Shin, how do we persuade the pirates to take us along? More importantly, how the heck do we know the pirates don't murder us in our beds and take our belongings?"

"Pray hard," Shin grunted.

"Pray? Pray to who?"

Shin stopped just outside the doors and looked at Fir. "Are you really Sacaen? What clan do you come from if you do not pray to Father Sky and Mother Earth?"

Fir looked at the ground. "I lived alone on the plains with my parents. We weren't part of a clan, or at least they never told me about it. Since my mother passed away, I…"

"I'm sorry I asked," Shin bowed his head in apology, "I didn't mean to pry."

The two were interrupted from their conversation when a red-haired lady swept by in a swirling crimson dress. Fir and Shin were struck by a strong smell of cinnamon and fresh apples that seemed to drift around the lady like a cloud. Unconsciously, both of them turned to stare at the female barkeeper who skillfully went from patron to patron without losing her elegance for a second.

Feeling foreign pairs of eyes on her, the barkeeper turned to flash the pair a smile that showed her perfect white teeth. "Well, aren't the two of you a bit young to be visiting the Leaping Leviathan? How may I help you?"

Snapping out of his temporary brain freeze, Shin finally got his tongue to start moving. "We came to see a woman named Anna?"

"Yes, yes, usually everyone who comes into the Leviathan is looking for me," the woman said, "so how may I help you?"

Fir's eyes widened even further. "You're Anna? Uh, I mean, I didn't mean to sound so rude. A-anyways, we came here looking for…" She looked helplessly at Shin.

Mentally rolling his eyes, Shin said. "We came here looking for pirates."

Anna laughed at his bluntness, "Well, aren't you the straightforward one. I once knew someone that was much like you; a blunt man of few words. What do you need to see pirates for? I daresay the two of you do not look like constables out to apprehend pirates. Although," Anna's eyes flashed briefly, "you must be insane to come into the Leviathan in order to take someone away."

"It's nothing like that," Fir protested, "we just want passage to the Western Isles, but none of the sailors are willing to take us there. Someone on the docks mentioned that we might want to try our luck with…"

_Just say the word already, I doubt you're insulting anyone. _"Pirates," Shin looked slightly annoyed, "so here we are."

Anna laughed again. "I also remember a time many years ago when another group with your naïveté who came in here asking for the same thing. Hold on for a second, let's see where my honey bun Jake is. Jake?"

A mild-looking man in his mid forties emerged from the cellar. Setting a keg of rum down on the counter, the man wiped his hands on his shirt before making his way over to where Anna was standing. "Anna, my dear, how may I help you?"

Anna pointed at Shin and Fir. "These two dears are looking for a way to the Western Isles. All of the sailors in Badon are a wee bit afraid to risk their hides, but I know my brave Jake is able to do it, right?"

Fir's jaw dropped. "_He_ is a pirate? But he looks just like an ordinary…?"

"I _was_ a pirate," Jake corrected, "I used to be a pirate, but settled down recently to run shop with Anna rather than leave her alone for months at a time."

"But you still have your connections, right?" Anna said, "I'm sure if you asked, _he_ would have to oblige your request."

"Aw, come on, Anna," Jake shook his head, "Captain isn't the same man he was twenty years ago. We've already won enough glory as the only crew to survive several round trips to Valor. He isn't going to budge unless it's one hell of a request from _that_ group."

Anna laughed, "Then you better get over and tell the Captain to prepare his ship. This _is_ a request from _that_ group."

Jake raised an eyebrow while Shin and Fir looked confused. "Anna, you've got to be joking," Jake said. "These two are barely twenty years old, how could they possible be from the Campaigners of Fire?"

"Then take a look at the girl's sword and tell me what you think," Anna smiled.

"My sword?" Fir unhooked the sword from her belt and held it in front of Jake for inspection.

Jake didn't need to look twice. Although somewhat larger than this one, there was only one blade that was literally this one's twin.

"Where did you get this?" Jake asked hoarsely.

"My mother had this made to emulate my uncle's sword," Fir answered. "She said that if I wanted to be a great sword master, I needed to carry a sword to match my predecessor."

"What _was_ your uncle's name?"

"His name _is_ Karel," Fir said defiantly, noting that Jake spoke in past tense.

Jake nodded. "So you believe that he is still alive. Faith is such a rare thing in such a dark and perilous age."

"So Jake, what is it going to be?" Anna smirked victoriously.

"My dear, I believe I'm going to leave your side for another trip," Jake shook his head. "The two of you, meet me at the docks this evening so I can take you to the ship."

"You agree to take us?" Fir asked.

"Well, that depends if the Captain feels like it," Jake said, "I make no promises, but you guys stand a good chance of getting your wish."

"Who's the captain?" Shin asked. _Is he trustworthy?_

As if sensing Shin's hidden question, Jake smirked wolfishly at the young nomad. "If you don't trust him, you won't trust any other pirate in Badon. His name's Fargus, master of the _Davros_."

* * *

At Castle Araphen, the crows were already feasting on the corpses. Lycian and Bern dead were scattered over the courtyard, lying prone where they had fallen in the heat of battle. Due to the chaos of the castle changing hands, neither victor nor defeated could spare the effort to give their comrades a proper burial. There was some talk amongst the Bern soldiers of utilizing the defeated Lycians to do the dirty work, but that notion was quickly squelched after Zephiel ordered the mass execution of the prisoners. Satisfied that Castle Araphen is firmly held in Bern hands, Zephiel delegated the task of conquering Lycia to Narshen before departing Araphen for Castle Bern. Prior to the king's departure, Brenya returned to Sacae with her division to keep a watchful eye on the Sacaens in Bulgar. 

Scarcely after the king was out of sight, the human crows came out to feast.

With the carte blanche given to him by the king, Narshen set out to satisfy his appetite for wealth. Rumors and tales of the stinginess and vaunted wealth of the Araphen Marquesses went well beyond Araphen's boundaries, and Narshen was eager to delve into the reputed wealth. Unfortunately, after combing the castle from top to bottom, Narshen searched in vain for any valuables that Marquess Lancel had hoarded over the years. His patience at an end, Narshen had Marquess Lancel dragged before him. After a brief moment, the Araphen Marquess was dragged before bound head and foot.

"Well, my dear Marquess Lancel," Narshen sneered, "I see that a brief duration in the dungeons has done you a world of good. Would you like to continue rotting down there, or shall I grant you a quick, clean death?"

Paling visibly at the thought of returning to the dungeons, Lancel babbled, "W-what do I have to do?"

"Simple," Narshen said, "Where is your treasure in this castle? I've searched through every inch in this pathetic bastion and found nary a silver coin. Where is your gold?"

At the mention of money, Lancel's expression hardened. Noticing this, Narshen scowled and hauled the man upright by his collar.

"Listen, you miserable cretin," Narshen snarled, "You do not bring your damn wealth to hell gates, do you?" Narshen's visage darkened even further as Lancel began chuckling. "What the hell is so amusing?"

"Did you honestly think that I kept all the eggs in one basket?" Lancel spat. "The money is mine! A simple commoner like you is unworthy of demanding anything of me, a pure-blooded noble!"

"Why you…!" Purpling with rage, Narshen groped for his sword to put Lancel out of his misery. He was interrupted from the interrogation by a great outcry of grief coming from the outer courtyards. Turning to his lieutenant, Slater, Narshen ordered the knight to find out what was the disturbance.

"We will continue this when I get back," Narshen glared at Lancel, "I trust you will be more willing to talk after another stint in your _hospitable_ dungeons."

Quitting the room in a foul rage, Narshen ran smack into Slater. The fully armored knight merely rocked slightly on his feet but Narshen nearly fell backwards on impact. Recovering his footing, Narshen glared furiously at the knight who was desperately looking everywhere except at his commander. Out of all the rules and regulations in Narshen's division, the soldiers and knights only knew one by heart: never, ever witness General Narshen during a moment of weakness. The Dragon General's ego and pride were infamous throughout the Bern Army, and Narshen considered anyone merely _looking_ at him in the midst of failure an unparalleled affront to his honor. Of course, Narshen was unable to do anything to anyone of higher rank than himself, but woe betide anyone of inferior rank.

To assuage his injured pride, Narshen consoled himself by smacking Slater across the face for the man's 'impudence.' Taking a brief moment to fix his disturbed hair, Narshen turned an imperious look towards Slater. The knight inwardly cursed his misfortune of being assigned to Narshen's division before delivering his report.

"Sir Narshen," Slater said, "owing to the mishandling of the guards, Hector of Ostia's corpse was discovered by the Lycian survivors. The disarmed soldiers mobbed the guards and took the corpse, swearing to bury him with their own hands. Digging the grave with their own hands, they covered Hector of Ostia with stones from the broken wall. The outcries you heard earlier were the sounds of grief and mourning."

"Fools, all of them," Narshen sniffed, "all of them will be dead by sunset. Why waste the remaining daylight left to them doing such a worthless task?"

Slater frowned slightly at that comment. A born soldier who had served in both the Black Fang of the past and the Bern Army, Slater hailed from the old stock that still placed great emphasis upon honor and loyalty. Slater had fought for the Black Fang during the glory days, when Brendan Reed was not swayed by the nefarious whisperings of Nergal. As he watched the Black Fang sink deeper into apathy and dishonor, Slater became more and more inclined towards leaving the once honorable group. Though Slater's loyal nature urged him to remain, the final defeat of the Black Fang at the Shrine of Seals decided for him. Burying his past, Slater entered the Bern military to forge a new future, looking for a place where honor and duty still lingered.

Conscious that Nashen would notice his expression, Slater ironed his features into a more neutral position. As a soldier, Slater was not supposed to allow his personal feelings to cloud his judgment. Sometimes, the knight despaired at having to serve underneath such a commander, but Slater continued to serve his king dutifully and loyally, wherever he was ordered to be.

"Sometimes the stupidity of inferior beings frustrates me to no end, Slater," Narshen said with a sigh. "Regardless, I have to be in Laus to oversee the logistics of the invasion. I am putting your squad in charge of Araphen. Meanwhile, the primary division will be marching inlands to search for supplies."

Inside the privacy of his head, Slater cursed again. Putting him in charge of Araphen was synonymous to putting him in charge of slaughtering the Lycians. To keep his pretty hands clean, Narshen was dumping the ignoble task of butchering the Lycians like to cattle to his subordinates. Besides, Narshen was _only_ sacrificing his subordinate's career to advance his own.

Also, searching for supplies was only a crude excuse to pillage the area. In taking down the front courtyard of Castle Araphen, Narshen's Second Legion had suffered heavy casualties. Since reinforcements have not yet arrived to replace their losses, Narshen needed a method to keep morale as high as possible. _Searching for supplies_ would be a perfect excuse to line the soldiers' pockets with gold, ensuring their loyalty and willingness to fight until Lycia's conquest could be completed. Since the primary Lycian army was already defeated and captured within the castle, a small force of men should be more than enough to hold the castle until the majority of Second Legion returns.

Unfortunately for Slater, there was no way to dodge a direct order. "Yes, sir."

The two walked towards Narshen's flight squadron. Since Rorix was slain in battle when Narshen was dueling Hector, a spare wyvern who had lost his rider in battle would serve temporarily as Narshen's mount. Putting one hand on the pommel of the saddle, Narshen turned slightly to give Slater a look that sent a shiver down the knight's spine.

"And Slater," Narshen said, "the gods cannot save you from my wrath if you lose Castle Araphen in my absence."

"Yes, sir."

Vaulting lightly into the saddle, Narshen jerked on the reins. The wyvern, unaccustomed to Narshen's commands, bucked and snorted, refusing to follow its rider's motions. Scowling, Narshen snatched a spear from one of his bodyguards and smote the beast into submission with a quick smack to the head. Docile for the moment, the wyvern obeyed with ill-grace. As one, the wyvern squadron took flight, their wings searing through the winds as they headed towards the west. Slater watched until Narshen and his group were out of sight before lowering his eyes to the ground. Around him, the soldiers in his squad detailed to guard Araphen mutually exchanged a look of unease and dismay.

In reality, guarding Castle Araphen was no easy task. Now that Narshen essentially scattered his division across the countryside, there was a severe shortage of defenders to hold the castle. With only fifty men under his command, Slater had to watch over the castle surroundings as well as ensure his two hundred odd prisoners do not stage a prison break. Granted, the Lycian soldiers were unarmed and put into chains after they buried Hector of Ostia, but these were the crack soldiers of the Lycian Alliance. There was no lack of brave or desperate men in the Alliance, and no one could say for sure that the Lycians would walk meekly to their executions. With only one man to watch four captives, Slater and his men had every right to be uneasy. If all hell broke loose, there was no one coming to help them out of this mess.

Shaking his head, Slater said. "Let's get this nasty business over with. Drag the captives out to the front courtyard. We will put those poor fools out of their misery as quickly as possible."

"Sir Slater," one of the soldiers asked, "what should we do about the front gate and the breach in the wall? There's no way we could seal them with such limited manpower."

Slater mentally cursed Narshen's greed. "We will have to make do with what we have. Build two barricades to temporarily seal up the breach. At least we will be able to mount a capable defense if a bandit crew comes by to scavenge."

"Yes, sir!"

With Elibe on a war footing, untold amounts of ex-soldiers and criminals formed large, marauding militias to terrorize the countryside. Though their weapons and armor were crude after constant use and rare repairs, these renegades often possessed considerable combat skills and were eager to replace their shoddy weaponry by scavenging from the remains of a battle. Castle Araphen, with its powerful stranglehold over the entryway between Bern and Lycia, would be a pleasant prize for any would-be bandit leader. It'd hardly be a boon for Bern to spend men and money conquering a castle, only to hand it over to the next bandit that happened to walk by.

As the soldiers left to carry out his orders, Slater couldn't help but feel that he had left out something extremely crucial. Mentally running through a checklist of what he needed to do, the knight could not recall anything he still needed to get to. Gods willing, the Lycians would not be too much of a hassle, though Slater's soul would be forever burdened by the two hundred murders he was about to commit today. Killing enemy soldiers in battle was one thing, murdering prisoners of war was a completely different thing.

Half a candle mark later, the bound Lycian prisoners were all gathered in the courtyard under the blistering afternoon sun. Rather than simply standing in an unorganized mass of humanity, the prisoners stood in formation based on rank or stature. Officers and surviving nobility stood in the front, while the soldiers stood in the rear. Upon seeing this, Slater nodded slightly in approval. This was what an army should look like; proud and disciplined even in defeat, calm and humble even in victory. However, Slater could not save for same for the two lords standing pitifully at the head of the formation.

Marquess Dolon of Tuscanny and Marquess Lancel of Araphen were probably the only men in that entire courtyard viewed with contempt by both friend and foe alike. It was common knowledge that the two lords sold out their allies to save their own lives, but their doom was no different after Zephiel ordered their deaths as well. Within the Bern Army, every soldier was trained to fight to the last drop of blood, regardless of how impossible the situation was. Surrender is never an option, and capitulating to save one's life is the most dishonorable thing imaginable. Slater could easily sympathize with the betrayed glares that the Lycian soldiers leveled at the two lords.

However, regardless of his sympathies, Slater was bound to complete his orders. After making sure that his men were keeping an alert watch on the Lycians, Slater ordered to have Marquess Dolon and Lancel brought before him. To his left, two heavily armored knights hefted their axes, awaiting Slater's orders to begin lopping off heads.

"Marquess Dolon, Marquess Lancel, soldiers of Lycia," Slater boomed, "for rising against His Majesty of Bern and challenging His Grace's right to Elibe, you are all sentenced to death. You stand judged and condemned by His Majesty and are about to die. Do you have any last words? If there is anything that you'd like to be done after your death, speak now."

The Lycian soldiers looked at one another. Finally, the captain of the surviving Tuscanny axmen stepped forward with a request. Recognizing his vassal, hope sprang into the eyes of Marquess Dolon.

Before the man could speak, Slater held up a hand. "I can grant your request, so long as you do not ask for the life of your marquess."

"And why would I beg mercy for him?" The captain spat. "You would be begging mercy from us if he hadn't sold us out. I hope you will allow us this one last boon, since I believe I speak for all of my comrades here."

"Speak," Slater said.

"On your honor as a knight," the captain said, "please give Lord Hector a proper burial as befitting a leader of men. He should not lie here, in an unnamed grave without the trappings of his rank. Swear that you will build him a tomb worthy of the Ostian General and allow him to lie there unmolested."

Slater's eyes widened before he asked the combined Lycian host. "Does he speak for you all?"

"He does," the army answered with once voice.

Moved by their loyalty, Slater nodded. "On my word as a knight, it will be done. Go in peace."

"Gramercy," the captain bowed his head slightly before moving back to his position in the formation. Never once did he look at his liege lord kneeling not two feet away from him.

Overcoming his astonishment, Marquess Dolon crawled before Slater. So pitiful was the marquess' condition that Slater almost laughed had he not realized what the man was about to say.

Groveling before Slater, Marquess Dolon begged for his life. "Please, honorable knight of Bern, what glory is there in killing a defenseless old man? I have much gold, gold enough to buy whatever your heart desires. I can…"

"Attempt to bribe me?" Slater finished.

"No! I mean… Yes… I…" Dolon's voice shriveled at Slater's tone.

"Save your wealth," Slater said contemptuously, "perchance you will be able to buy the devil's pity. Look around you, Marquess Dolon! These brave men wept rivers of tears when they learned of Lord Hector's death. How many of them are weeping for you? How many of them will beg me to give you an honorable burial? Wretched fool, open your eyes and look around you!"

Sobbing piteously, Marquess Dolon was dragged away by the executioners. Made to kneel alongside Marquess Lancel in front of Slater, Marquess Dolon's fear of death brought shame upon the entire Alliance. Truth be told, innumerous Lycian and Bern soldiers could not wait for the traitor's death. Lycians considered this to be payback for his treachery, but the Bern soldiers only wanted to silence the marquess' endless tears.

Seeing Dolon's distress, Marquess Lancel let out a sinister laugh. "Double the fool I was to listen to your counsel, Dolon! How can you, a true-blooded noble, shame your birthright by shedding tears like a commoner's wife? We are Lords of Lycia, the heirs of the champion Roland! All men must die and, though we cannot choose our deaths, we can choose how we meet it. You are highborn, so act accordingly!"

Leaning forward and extending his neck, Lancel admonished his executioner. "Strike away, peasant! Let it not be said that Marquess Lancel feared to meet his maker at the moment of his death. I, for one, will not emulate the example of this witless coward! Strike away!"

Two axes swung in crescent arcs, painting the ground with a spray of fresh blood. Marquess Lancel died cleanly, his head separated in one blow. His facial features still bore the proud and haughty look about him even in death. Marquess Dolon was quaking so badly that it took three blows for his executioner to separate the head from the body. Staring at the mutilated head and body, the Bern knight snorted before kicking aside Dolon's head.

"He died well," Slater said absently as he looked at what remained of Marquess Lancel. "Give the Araphen Marquess back to his family for burial. Leave the other one here; he's only fit for the dogs anyways."

"Yes, sir."

Slater looked uncomfortable. "Do not hold this against me, I'm only following orders. Keep them where they are, we'll deal with the leaders first. Anyone ranked higher than a lieutenant step for…"

"Sir Slater, we have company!"

_Of course, shout it out for the whole world to hear, why don't you? As if my prisoners _need_ an opportunity to revolt. _Slater thought angrily as he whirled on the sentry posted on top of the walls. "Who is it?"

"I cannot tell yet, sir," The sentry reported, "there's a huge cloud of dust. I would say a group of cavalry coming towards here at top speed. Too much dust to judge their numbers, sir."

"Do you have an approximate distance and estimated time of arrival?"

"They are about ten miles away and will be here in…" The sentry's voice trailed off.

"Well? What is the matter?" Slater asked, impatience edging into his voice.

"The banner is visible, sir," the sentry squinted, "some sort of silver bird on a blue field… I can't say for sure, sir."

"Silver…" Slater's eyes widened. "How soon will they be here?"

"Minutes, sir!"

"Shit!" Slater shouted, "Barricade the gates and prepare to defend against full-scale assault. Archers on the walls, stall as long as possible!"

"Yes, sir!"

Sensing the urgency in Slater's voice, his subordinates leapt to obey. Ten archers were scrambling to the top of the battlements while Slater gathered his remaining spearmen to hold the barricade. Behind them, the bound Lycians seemed completely at ease. Droves of them were languidly sitting on the ground or taking a nap. Noticing this, one of the soldiers next to Slater asked him why this was happening.

_Maybe because our prisoners know that the visitors can slaughter us with one hand tied behind their backs?_ Slater, however, could not reveal the truth in order to preserve morale. "They're resting since they know their executions will be delayed until we deal with our visitors," Slater lied. "They might as well savor last moments in Elibe."

"Sir, pardon me for my question," the soldier asked, "but exactly who are we up against?"

_Our deaths_, Slater replied, "You'll soon see."

Tense, but not overly nervous, the soldiers around Slater nodded and waited. Bern had long held itself invincible, and that confidence trickled down to the lowliest soldier. With the crushing campaigns in Ilia, Sacae, and Lycia, who could possibly defeat the mighty Bern Army? That confidence wavered, however, when the enemy loomed into plain view.

The enemy had evidently ridden many miles to offer them combat. Layers of dust coated their blue plate mail as well as their sweat-covered horses. A pale banner fluttered in the wind, carried by a mounted knight riding near the head of the host. With their visors lowered and their lances extended before them, the cavalry force numbered roughly one hundred men, outnumbering Slater's command two to one. Seeing the barricade and Slater's men around it, the enemy did not hesitate in the slightest, choosing to continue their furious pace.

_They're not stopping? They are confident enough to challenge us in this fortified position?_ Slater tightened his sweaty grasp on his lance. For the second time in his life, Slater realized that this was the cold sweat of fear.

A quick command from their leader, and the cavalry picked up speed. Striking spurs to their mounts, the mounted cavaliers stormed towards Slater and his men as if they had just started their journey. They exhibited the force and fury of an army that came fresh to a battle without traveling an untold amount of miles!

Smashing into Slater's command with the speed and ferocity of a thunderclap, the cavalry force swept right over the barricade. Nearly half a dozen cavalrymen fell from the saddle during the first attack, but Slater's defense was broken. The defensive line was sundered in two as more and more riders poured through the gap. The slaughter began in earnest.

Pierced by three lances, Slater lay unmoving on the earth. Standing in the forefront of his men, Slater had the satisfaction of spearing one opponent from his saddle before three spear points thudded into him. As he lay dying, Slater could dimly hear the cheers of the Lycian prisoners as his surviving men surrendered. Ironically, Slater only had one thought running across his mind.

_At least Narshen will not have the satisfaction of killing me._

* * *

_Chapter complete. Thank you for reading. _

_

* * *

_


	6. Broken Alliance

_Author's Corner:_

_Merry Christmas._

* * *

**Legacy of Valshannar – Chapter 5**

**Broken Alliance**

"Marcus, do you have a casualty report?"

"Quite a few, Master Roy," Marcus replied, dismounting from his horse. "Four dead and seven wounded, though the injured are being tended by Sister Ellen. They appear to be on their way to recovery."

"Eleven casualties is too high, Marcus," Roy answered. "We outnumbered the Bern garrison two to one, yet they still unhorsed a tenth of our riders."

"Master Roy, the enemy we faced today was no ordinary group of soldiers," Marcus said. "Today, we fought the cream of Elibe's military, the Bern infantry. It can only be expected that resistance was more than stout."

"That is true," Roy admitted, "but our losses are unacceptable. We vanquished a small portion of the Bern army here, but we cannot sustain such losses in the long run. If we lost a tenth of our forces when battling against an opposing force half our size, how many more would fall should we duel against a numerically superior foe?"

The old knight looked thoughtful. "If that were the case, Master Roy, our forces must rely on superior tactics to overcome the enemy."

Roy grimaced. "I fear we are in trouble then. I have a decent grasp of the rudimentary basics, but I am no master tactician when it comes to planning battles. Most of the skirmishes in and around Pherae were settled thanks to the Order's superior horsemanship and fighting skills."

_Master Roy is more of a battlefield commander who personally leads the charge. The idea of sitting behind in a tent plotting out the entire battle is repulsive to his nature. _Marcus thought as the pair walked towards the Araphen throne room. _Then again, should it be considered strange that he exhibits the stubbornness and forwardness of Lord Hector? After all, Lord Hector was Lord Eliwood's greatest friend._

"I wish I paid more attention to Cecilia's lectures on tactics rather than spending the majority of my time practicing swordsmanship." Roy shook his head.

"Rest assured that this old knight sleeps more soundly in his bed knowing that you can defend yourself."

Roy grinned. "I don't think a single sword will decide the fate of Elibe, Marcus. I was wondering if you could contribute a little aid in the tactical department."

"I fear I am too inept for that task," Marcus said. "If he were still alive, Bern would never dare to declare war against the rest of Elibe. Mark would have scattered the hosts of Bern with a flick of his hand. It was thanks to his genius that Lord Eliwood survived the quest from twenty years ago."

"The Campaign of Fire actually happened?" Roy looked incredulous. "I thought they were only fairy tales that Father created and that dragons were mere legends from the Scouring."

"Oh no, the dragons were quite real. In fact…"

"They exist today."

Roy and Marcus both stopped short at the interruption. The two turned to see a soldier click his heels at attention and offer a stiff salute.

"Sergeant Bassinger, Santaruz 2nd Company, begging your pardon for the interruption, Lord Roy."

"At ease, sergeant," Roy nodded in greeting. "What were you referring to when you mentioned that dragons exist today?"

The sergeant relaxed into a stance of parade rest. A sudden flicker of pain and fear flashed through the soldier's green eyes, but he suppressed the emotions as well as the tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

"Lord Roy, the dragons of legend were involved in the sack of Araphen." The sergeant chewed on his mustache as he watched Marcus' eyes bulge out in shock. "I know this is hard to believe, sir, but every Lycian soldier garrisoned at Araphen during the siege will affirm my story. Two dragons smashed through the wall and shattered our lines. I can say with pride that the Santaruz 2nd Company will stand against any human army on the face of Elibe, sir, but my company could not stand their ground against the dragons."

"It is not your fault, soldier," Roy said, "few men living can…"

"It _is_ our fault, Lord Roy!" The soldier's voice cracked. "Marquess Santaruz was the only one, the _only_ one, who rose to the occasion. When the marquess, the marquess, he… He was utterly destroyed by the beast. The men broke ranks and fled afterwards, leaving Lord Hector to face the creatures alone."

Roy started. "Where is Lord Hector _now_?"

"I do not know for certain, Lord Roy." Sergeant Bassinger replied, "I heard that Lord Hector triumphed over the dragon, but was taken to see the King of Bern in the throne room."

Roy and Marcus did not wait to hear more. The two took off for the Araphen throne room immediately, taking the stairs three steps at a time in their haste. Several soldiers on guard saluted the young lord and aging general, though they received no reply.

"Marcus, why didn't anyone check the throne room when we swept the castle for surviving hostiles?"

"Mostly likely out of respect for the recently departed Marquess Araphen," Marcus surmised. "I hear that he endured his last moments with dignity."

"As much dignity as can be preserved by death, I suppose," Roy said bitterly. The young lord still had trouble understanding the motives behind Marquess Lancel and Marquess Dolon's betrayal. Whereas Eliwood was a lord seasoned by intrigue and accustomed to treachery, his son is still a youth learning the ropes of manhood. Marcus could only wonder when his young charge would lose that aura of naïveté around him.

At the top of the stairs, Roy burst through the doors of the throne room with Marcus scarcely a foot behind him. The scene that greeted their eyes bore evidence of combat, with blood soaked through Marquess Lancel's prized Etrurian rugs. A chipped silver ax lay abandoned on the ground not two feet from the dried blood. However, no body, living or dead, could be seen anywhere in the entire room.

"Where is Lord Hector?" Roy asked, confused by the sight.

"Master Roy, look here."

Roy turned his eyes towards Marcus' pointing hand. From the dried blood, a trail of crimson liquid made a path steadily towards the throne, disappearing near the steps.

"Odd, someone must have moved the body somehow," Marcus said. "However, this makes no sense. If the Bern soldiers were to dispose of Lord Hector, they should have dragged the corpse _away_ from the corpse and out of the throne room. Why in the gods' name would they drag the body _towards_ the throne?"

"Simple, because no Bern soldier touched Lord Hector's remains," a voice sounded from behind the throne.

Marcus's hand was instantly on his sword hilt. Half drawing the blade, the old knight roared out a challenge. "Who goes there? Show yourself!"

"At ease, old friend," a middle-aged knight clad in green armor revealed himself from his hiding place behind the throne. "You sure forget old comrades quickly."

Marcus blinked in surprise. Although it was twenty years since they last waged war together, the resemblance was unmistakable. "By the gods, is that you, Sain?"

The Green Lance of Caelin nodded while clutching his right arm. "Indeed it is, more or less worse for the wear. I daresay you lot took your time getting here, with Araphen fallen as it is."

"Pherae was attacked by brigands from the Bern Mountains," Marcus answered. "Master Roy quelled the assault as quickly as possible before rushing here with all haste."

"Master Roy?" Sain asked before focusing his attention on the red-haired youth. "Ah, you mean the son of Lord Eliwood. Feh, I should have guessed by the color of his hair. No other young noble in all of Lycia has hair like Lord Eliwood."

Evidently impatient with the exchange, Roy asked. "Where is Lord Hector?"

"Lord Hector's body lies behind the throne in a secret passageway," Sain answered. "Simply pull on the torch holder on the pillar to the left of the throne. The few remaining knights I have with me are standing vigil over the bodies of Lord Hector and Sir Pandarus. I already told them that Lycia has regained the castle, so you should have little difficulty paying your respects, milord."

"I see. Thank you, Sir Sain." Roy nodded briefly in the knight's direction before moving towards the secret passageway.

Marcus's eyes briefly followed Roy's movements before turning back to Sain. "Sain, how did you know there was a secret passageway behind the throne?"

"Ah, that I fear, is a professional secret. Given our longtime comradeship, however, I will enlighten you briefly," Sain grinned slightly. "The exact location and details were furnished by Rath, one-time Captain of the Araphen Guard. Those who partook in Lady Lyndis's return from exile would know of the brief skirmish at Araphen. A certain half-brother of the reigning marquess had taken control of the castle in a coup, but Lyndis's Legions entered the castle via the secret passageway you see behind the throne. We were able to quell the coup in this manner with minimum losses."

"I see," Marcus nodded. "That was during Sir Mark's time, I believe?"

"Yes," Sain said, "fortunately I was one of the few who entered the castle through this entrance that day. When the fall of Araphen was imminent and most of my command slain, I retreated into the castle in hopes of preserving our honorable dead from those Bern jackals. It was in that hiding place that I heard of the duel between Lord Hector and King Zephiel."

Marcus grimaced. "I infer from the blood trail that Lord Hector lost."

"Evidently," Sain sighed. "The battle was over in a matter of moments. I didn't witness the duel, merely heard the crash of metal against metal. I assume that King Zephiel brought one of the Divine Weapons into the duel. Lord Hector has long since returned Armads. He didn't stand a chance."

"At least Lord Hector met his end with honor."

"That he did."

However, the prevailing thought on both their minds was not regarding Hector of Ostia. The Lycian elite were annihilated at the siege of Araphen. Who could reassemble the army in time to protect Ostia from the advancing Bern hordes?

"Marcus, come here for a moment," Roy's voice echoed out from the passageway.

Exchanging a glance with Sain, Marcus moved towards the entrance to find an ashen-faced Roy coming into view. The lord's eyes spoke volumes for the young man's distress and despair, but he made a visible effort to iron his features into a more neutral expression.

"With the collapse of Araphen, Ostia must be made aware of the danger," Roy said. "Marcus, please send word to the rescued prisoners. All who consider themselves fit and able to march will accompany us towards Thria. Everyone else will follow at a more leisurely pace until we reach Ostia. Ostia can decommission them afterwards."

"Master Roy, you will not assign a garrison to the castle?" Marcus asked.

"There is no purpose for a garrison here. If a Bern brigade returns, the garrison will be slaughtered to a man. With most of the lords slain, only a seneschal will be needed to hold Araphen in proxy until a governor is appointed. Lycia has need of every sword in the future, so the other prisoners are better off resting in their homes."

"As you wish, Master Roy," Marcus nodded in obedience. "I will inform the column to prepare for departure immediately."

Sain coughed, "I hope you have space for a few extra riders, because I'll be marching with you."

Roy smiled thinly. "We'll be glad to have you wish us, Sir Sain."

* * *

_Now, supposedly, Milton is supposed to be standing right here on watch duty. So where the heck is he?_ Oujay thought as he surveyed the area around him. The busy intersection between Market Avenue and 13th Street filled with pedestrians and teamsters driving their wagons, but was conspicuously missing a guard.

"Milton, where are you?"

Milton, a spearman assigned to the 23rd Knight Squad, quickly tossed the wine bottle he was holding into the nearby bushes when he heard that shout. Stepping out of the alleyway where he was taking a break, the young knight-in-training caught sight of the blue-haired swordsman standing near the sentry station.

"Ah, there you are, Milton," Oujay smiled. "I couldn't seem to find you along the patrol route. I must have missed you in the crowds."

"Well, I'm just lucky that you were the one sent to find me and not Captain Wendy," Milton shuddered. "If Captain found out I wasn't in my designated area, she would have lectured me until my ears fell off."

"Ha, that may very well be the case," Oujay agreed. "Anyways, I came to inform you that your shift is over. I suggest that you return to the castle quickly and grab your paycheck. With Ostia in the current state, even our wages seem to be on a first come, first serve basis."

"Are you serious? Is the treasury that sorely pressed?"

"Whether the treasury is in dire situation or not is open for debate," Oujay answered. "Many of the knights and trainees garrisoned in Ostia are complaining that this is Leygance's ploy to lure them into his fold. It's rumored that most of the troops under his command always have their pay lined up and ready for delivery while others have to beg and threaten for their wages. Others might not be so lucky, seeing how the 10th Knight Squad hasn't been paid for two months."

"Yeah, I've heard them complaining in the barracks too," Milton shook his head. "Well, I'm off. If I let my money sit there any longer, someone else might help themselves to it."

"That's true, though I'd wish you would go a little easier on the wine," Oujay observed. "Your wallet seems to be full on payday, then strangely empty the next."

Milton feigned an injured look. "Oujay, you've known me for long enough. I told you I gave up drinking a while ago. Speaking of empty wallets, isn't yours in a similar situation?"

"Guilty as charged," Oujay grinned. "However, I have a legitimate excuse. My family depends on my income to make ends meet. Even with my brothers working, it takes our combined earnings to make the household function. What's your excuse?"

"Uh…" Milton's grin faltered, "I just remembered an errand I needed to get to before heading home. I'll see you later." The spearman quickly ducked behind a slow-moving caravan and was lost to sight.

Oujay quirked an eyebrow at Milton's hasty retreat. "Hm… I smell something fishy…"

"Indeed you should."

Oujay blinked in surprise. Turning around, he found a purple haired man wearing a fashionable brown cloak holding a wine bottle in his hand. The man was busy inspecting the label on the bottle before he redirected his attention back on Oujay.

"A gullible young man like you should naturally be curious when others are evasive towards your questions," the man said. "After all, are not all youngsters inquisitive by nature?"

Oujay cocked his head to one side in confusion. "I'm afraid I do not follow you, good sir. What do you mean that I'm gullible?"

"Well, you certainly believe everything that yonder spearman told you. The intoxicating smell of wine is simply too much for his willpower. I witnessed him tossing this bottle," the man shook the bottle in his hand to show half the contents swishing around, "into the bushes before hurrying out of the alleyway. I presume he concocted a flurry of lies to hide his indiscretion?"

Oujay colored. "Actually, he claimed that he gave up drinking a while ago."

"See, what did I tell you? Gullible as you are, he only needed one line to convince you of his innocence." The man took a long swig from the bottle before corking it and smacking his lips. A slim trickle of wine escaped his lips and made its way down into his purple goatee. "Ah, this is a fine merlot from Worde. It would be such a pity to throw this away merely to uphold his image, do you not think so?"

"Well, I certainly appreciate that you are taking your valuable time to point out my lapse in judgment," Oujay avoided the question, "but is there anything I can help you with?"

"Actually, young man, there is one thing I wish to learn from you. Do you happen to know the location of Sir Barth of the Steel Tower? I have some news he would be most interested in."

"Oh, Sir Barth is currently at the _Buck's Horn_ in the 2nd District," Oujay answered.

"Right, thanks lad. I'll be on my way now," the man took another swig from the bottle. "And be wary of liars these days!"

Thankful to be free of the man's presence at last, Oujay quickly turned around and left in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for the young mercenary, someone latched onto his shoulder before he moved three steps.

"The fact is, young man, I haven't been in Ostia for a while, so I do not recall my way around here. Could you please direct me to the _Buck's Horn_?"

_Oh well, I need to see Wendy regarding our next assignment anyways; might as well take him along_. Oujay turned and nodded, "I'll be glad to. The 2nd District is in this direction."

Ten minutes and quite a few turns later, Oujay led his companion before the rather crowded _Buck's Horn_. Ever since Barth and Zealot mutually pledged to defend Ostia, many soldiers of Ostia viewed the _Buck's Horn_ as an unofficial headquarters for anti-Leygance members. Consequently, with Barth frequenting the tavern to discuss Ostia's security with Zealot, many knights of the Steel Tower also visited the establishment for their own purposes. With Leygance in full command of the castle itself, those who found the general's policies repulsive naturally looked elsewhere for lodgings.

Pushing open the double-doors that led into the establishment, Oujay glanced around to find Barth. The mohawk-sprouting knight was seated at the back table engaged with Zealot, Treck and Noah in a deep discussion. Satisfied that his search has ended, Oujay turned around to inform his companion of his success, but the man was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to Oujay, his companion had already approached Barth's table. Naturally, Barth and his companions were unaware that someone was eavesdropping on their conversation.

"If General Leygance continues to alienate both the upper class and the lower class with his mad schemes, we will not need a foreign invasion to rend the city apart. Ostia is quite capable of falling apart by itself." Barth sighed.

"What do you mean, Sir Barth?" Zealot asked, "Has the general proposed a new ordinance to govern the people?"

"He has done so indirectly," Barth said. "By declaring the original land tax dysfunctional, General Leygance has devised a troublesome income tax in _addition_ to the current land tax. Claiming that the reported numbers were incorrect and much of the levies from the land tax were misrepresented, General Leygance has proposed that every citizen of Ostia pay ten percent of their annual income into the treasury. According to the general, this will alleviate the economical difficulties that Ostia currently faces."

"Which economical difficulties are you alluding to? Is it the lack of money to fund the mercenaries in Leygance's employment?" Noah asked.

"Actually, I think I know the reason," Zealot said. "I heard that many of the poorer districts in Ostia are clamoring that food is unavailable for copper and silver, leaving them out of starve. They are demanding that the price of bread be lowered or the government should pay for free bread distribution. Anything less than that, I fear…"

"…May lead to insurrection in the poor districts," finished Treck.

Noah rolled his eyes. "That was a brilliant scheme; taking money from the rich and using the funds to buy food for the poor. I can see why Leygance has distanced himself from the upper class as well."

"He's trying to keep a foot in either camp; drawing both the upper class and the lower into his fold. Unfortunately, if the general continues his non-action policy, he will end up losing both groups. The people desire action that directly involves their security and prosperity. The general might have been better off alienating one group, but endearing himself to the other."

"The people are becoming desperate," Barth said. "With no news of Araphen or Lord Hector and General Leygance making blunders left and right, the people are looking to themselves for solutions. Much of the populace are arming themselves in preparation for drastic measures. If this continues for much longer, I fear that Ostia may return to the chaotic times of the War of Heirs."

"If General Leygance would allow Lady Lilina to assume the position of head of state, there might be a defuse some of the problems that Ostia is currently facing, but that would not improve the general's own standing." Zealot shook his head. "Truly, he's between a rock and a hard place."

"My, my, quite a thing to say about your commanding officer, don't you agree?"

The four knights all turned to look at the source of the interruption. Oujay's one-time companion merely saluted Barth with the wine bottle before taking another sip.

Noah was on his feet in an instant. "Who are you, one of Leygance's spies?"

"At ease, knight of Ilia," Barth put out a hand to restrain Noah before smirking at the interrupter. "You never do change that habit of yours, do you, Asthor?"

"Which habit do you refer to, the interruption or the drink?"

Barth laughed. "Well, if you put it that way, I suppose you retain both of them. Gentlemen, I give you Ostia's Head of Intelligence, Asthor."

"Well, to be politically correct, I am the Head of Internal Intelligence," Asthor said with a smile. "Matthew is Head of Foreign Intelligence, but given his long period of inactivity and unknown location, I am the only Head of Intelligence serving Ostia presently."

"It is an honor to meet you," Zealot nodded politely.

"Come now, Asthor," Barth boomed, "you could not possibly have come all this way just to say hello, correct? What news do you have?"

Asthor's cheery demeanor chilled instantly as his eyes glanced left and right. "Do you have a private place to talk where the walls do not have ears?"

Barth and Zealot looked at one another. Zealot said, "I have a room on the second floor, we shall not be overheard there. Come, this way."

On the way to the second floor, Zealot flashed a brief hand signal to a gathered group of Ilian knights loitering near the stairway. Recognizing the command, the group of six knights took the stairway first, positioning themselves in the rooms all around Zealot's chamber. The Ilian commander had the foresight to reserve all the rooms on the second floor of the _Buck's Horn_ for his troops. If necessary, Zealot could hold an impromptu field briefing in his room where no intruder could listen into without running into an Ilian knight.

After entering the room, Zealot calmly locked the door. Motioning for Noah to sit with his back against the door, Zealot nodded. "We are secure against eavesdroppers now. What do you need to say?"

Asthor slowly settled down in a chair beside the bed. "I have a few items of catastrophic proportion that I need to discuss. First, I have finished rooting around in Laus. Apparently, Marquess Erik is not content with ruling over a province. He has imperial ambitions for all of Lycia, and is counting on the current invasion to provide him with a golden opportunity of fulfilling his ambitions. The fact that he failed to reinforce Castle Araphen is beyond doubt. Whether he fully complied with Bern is not yet proven."

Barth was aghast. "Do you know how or when Marquess Erik plans to act?"

"I was unable to find any details, though I searched long and hard. Erik has a snake by the name of Paltier who is making my job very difficult," Asthor admitted. "However, I have more. Second, General Leygance is funneling a large sum of money towards an Ostian Tournament of Arms, to be held in the near future. This is, more or less, a tournament exclusively for the knightly class. General Leygance and four others will challenge all comers for six candle marks. A panel of five judges will decide the champion of the day. This has not been confirmed, but I believe the prize is Lady Lilina's hand in marriage."

"What did you say?" Barth turned purple with fury. "How can General Leygance even think of offering Lady Lilina as a prize for barter? Has he no honor?"

"Why would he offer that?" Noah asked. "Someone marrying Lady Lilina would only unseat Leygance's position!"

"Not if Leygance is the one marrying Lady Lilina," Treck observed. "That would _legitimize_ his position and grant him unlimited power over the alliance."

Asthor nodded. "That is exactly what General Leygance is plotting. If he manages to win the day, he will be able to sword-wed Lady Lilina regardless of objection. The legal scruples of the matter will be moot if his many mercenaries stay long enough for the ceremony to conclude. The only reason he hasn't forcibly wed Lady Lilina right now is because the common people will revolt. If he emerges utterly victorious in the tournament, that is an entirely different story altogether. The people need a hero to put their faith in, and the general will easily fit that role if he triumphs against all who oppose him."

"He can be opposed in the tournament and consequently defeated, but I do not think we should stake all our hopes on that," Zealot said.

"I still have some connections with the knights in the castle," Barth said. "I will smuggle in a few trustworthy troops and quietly take Lady Lilina from this accursed setup. Sir Zealot, if you could arrange for an endless line of challengers, I think that would be best."

Zealot nodded. "You seek to keep General Leygance permanently on the tournament field? This would present your infiltration group with the maximum amount of time to act."

"Yes," Barth said. "Once Lady Lilina is safely with the loyal Brothers of the Steel Tower, we can hold out in Ostia until Lord Hector returns to deal with General Leygance."

Asthor shook his head. "Ah, Barth, I am sorry to say that your plan is doomed from the start."

"What do you mean?"

"You can wait for another decade and Lord Hector will not return," Asthor said slowly. "I have already received confirmation from multiple informants around Araphen. Castle Araphen has already fallen, most of the lords slain, and the garrison put into irons."

Barth and Zealot stood up so quickly that their chairs fell backwards. "What did you just say!?"

"Castle Araphen has fallen," Asthor repeated, "and Lord Hector is dead. He was killed by King Zephiel of Bern."

Stunned silence hung over the room like a cloud.

* * *

Two squadrons of wyvern riders hurtled through the sky, maintaining a double line formation despite the wind howling in their faces. Their weapons and armor glistening in the afternoon sun, they were beyond any doubt the terror of the skies. Few things in battle were more awe-inspiring than a bloodthirsty wyvern tearing through clouds with dripping fangs, intent on rending flesh. A wrecking ball of steel and flesh, a fully-armored wyvern rider possessed the physical hardiness of a knight in heavy plate mail combined with the blazing speed of the Sacaen nomads. Only a few of the bravest or most foolhardy regiments dared to challenge a full contingent of wyvern riders head on.

At the head of the two squadrons, Narshen was in good spirits. Despite failing to find any of Marquess Lancel's riches at Castle Araphen, Narshen had significantly advanced his plans to conquer Lycia. During his brief meeting with Marquess Erik of Laus, Narshen had successfully cowed the lord into submission with threats of invading Laus itself. Greedy as the man was, Erik was in no position to dictate terms to the Dragon General. After bowing out with ill grace, Erik had promised to hold off on any attempt towards Ostia until Narshen made his attack. In the unlikely attempt that Narshen's division failed and was repulsed, then Erik would be granted his opportunity.

_That weasel would be looking for the first opportunity to backstab me_, Narshen thought to himself at the head of the formation. _Erik has worked too long to yield me the fruits of his labor. His only hope lays in uniting the Lycian states under his banner and raising a new army to challenge my division. Failing that, anything he does would be moot as my division annihilates his troops in battle_.

Several candle marks ago, Narshen received favorable reports that the "foraging" had gone well. Indeed, many of the outlying villages around Araphen were sacked and looted. Fuming at his limited manpower, Narshen had instructed his troops to largely target the wealthier farms and merchants. If his division had not suffered so many losses during the siege of Araphen, Narshen might have been able to spare a company of men to round up able-bodied men for sale in the Western Isles. With Etruria preparing for war-time measures, the precious metals provided by the Western Isles were in great demand. As such, the barons and bandits controlling the mines were always in search of more workers, voluntary or otherwise. The potential for profit after mass abductions and sales was enormous in times of war.

_The division should have reassembled at Castle Araphen by now_, Narshen smirked. _Replenished by supplies and reinforcements, it is about time for me to embark on a victory march throughout Lycia. Erik, your chance will never arrive!_

"General Narshen, we are within 10 miles of Castle Araphen!" One of the wyvern knights behind Narshen shouted. "Requesting permission to begin the descent?"

"Ah, is it time already?" Narshen laughed. "Permission granted!"

The squadrons knew better than to question Narshen's moods, however fickle they were. The Dragon General was known to switch from fury to joy at random intervals, and no one wanted to be on the receiving end of his mood swings. Then again, though Narshen was wont to keep a portion of the wealth for himself, he freely distributed the remainder between his troops. By enriching his followers, Narshen did create a fiercely loyal and competent core of hardened warriors. On the other hand, their loyalty was dependant on the fact that Narshen continued to _win_ his battles.

The wyvern riders looped lazily out of the clouds and descended towards the earth. Off in the distance, Castle Araphen could be seen towering over the nearby countryside. That is, a Castle Araphen conspicuously lacking the crimson banners of Bern.

"Sir, Castle Araphen appears to devoid of our division!"

"What are you talking about?" Narshen said irritably, his previous good cheer evaporating. "Slater and his men should have finished their task by now. So where the hell are they?"

"General Narshen," another wyvern rider spoke up, "there appears to be a large detachment of friendly soldiers encamped several miles to the east. I believe they are flying your division banner."

"By the gods, which idiot ordered them to move there?" Narshen raged, "Make haste, men! I am going to have a few _choice_ words with Slater!"

Tugging hard on the reins, Narshen ordered his wyvern into a steep dive. Screeching, the wyvern immediately plunged downwards toward the camp. Behind Narshen, his escort struggled to follow their leader's reckless movements. The formation disintegrated into a mob of flapping wings and muttered oaths as the squadrons tried in vain to keep up with the general.

Landing in a cloud of dust, Narshen leapt from the saddle and removed his war helm. With a contemptuous flick, he tossed the helmet backwards, striking a passing stable hand in the head. Hearing the helmet fall to the ground, Narshen turned slowly around and leveled a stare at the stable boy. The boy's eyes widened in fear before he dived on the helm and carefully began polishing the dust from the helmet. Satisfied that the equipment was being taken care of, Narshen looked elsewhere.

"Bring that to my tent after you are done," Narshen said. "Someone find me the disciplinary officer!"

"I am here, general!" A tall, gaunt man in armor strode forward.

"For his punishment," Narshen pointed at the boy, "he is to polish my helmet two times a day, once at dawn and again at dusk. In addition, I think a dozen lashes will do."

The officer, long accustomed to Narshen's habit of blaming others, merely shrugged. "The sentence will be carried out to the letter, general. Though might I be so bold as to ask what crime the boy committed?"

"What crime you ask?" Narshen thundered, "For his negligence! Every man in this division should be light on his toes and ready to obey any order, react to any change in his environment. He was discomfited by a mere helmet! Preposterous!" Without waiting for the officer's reply, Narshen stormed off for his private tent.

The disciplinary officer looked slightly apologetic. "Sorry lad, I'm just following orders. It's plain tough luck to run into the general during one of his moods. Don't hold this against me." The officer signaled for two men to take the stable boy away.

Narshen's rage did not diminish as he neared the center of the camp. Every soldier who caught sight of the general immediately snapped to attention and saluted, praying that they wouldn't be singled out for punishment. As Narshen approached, every man scrambled out of his way and kept their gaze forward, not even daring to look the enraged general in the eye.

Stopping in front of his command tent, Narshen turned around slowly to survey the assembled soldiers in front of him. All of them kept their faces blank, trying to avoid attracting Narshen's attention and subsequent fury. Not finding a target to punish, Narshen veritably exploded.

"How is it, that I return from a mission of _vital_ importance to our campaign, that I find the entire camp moved?" Narshen roared, "Not only that, my orders were countermanded, the lot of you are not ready to depart, and _where the hell is Slater_!?"

Silence greeted the Dragon General, as no one wished to reveal the information for fear of Narshen cutting them down on the spot. Narshen, quite riled up already, was ready to deliver another oath when a voice drifted out of his tent.

"My, my, you shouldn't rail on your own soldiers so, General Narshen. After all, I was the one who overrode your orders. Unless, of course, you feel that I am _unqualified_ to do so?"

All the hot air instantly deflated out of Narshen at those words, replaced with cold dread. Completely ignoring the assembled soldiers in front of him, Narshen quickly ducked into the tent to find an ancient, blind tutor waiting for him.

"M-Master Xavier," Narshen stammered, "this is… quiet unexpected…"

"Is it really that surprising, Narshen?" Xavier smiled slightly. "I must say, you have made a fine mess of Castle Araphen, don't you agree?"

"What do you mean, sir? I do not understand…"

"You understand _nothing_," Xavier cut Narshen off harshly. "While you have been meandering around Lycia plotting your campaign, a Pheraen cavalry host retook Castle Araphen, released the prisoners, and destroyed the garrison left here! Are you mentally ill or extremely incompetent? You knew exceedingly well that during the siege we did not encounter a single Lycian cavalry unit! The army was fortunate enough to sack Castle Araphen without suffering from Pherae's interference. And you lost the castle in one fell swoop because you left only _fifty_ men to guard this precious passageway! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Pherae retook Castle Araphen? What was Slater doing?" Narshen gasped.

"Imbecile," Xavier's brow creased in anger. "How do you expect fifty infantrymen to hold off a force of nearly one hundred Pheraen cavalry? It is not for nothing that Pherae is praised as the finest cavalry force in Elibe! I painstakingly bribed multiple bandits to sidetrack Pherae, successfully delaying them from aiding Araphen while the army took the castle. Now, due to your stupidity, Bern nearly lost all its gains! If Lycia had the soldiers to garrison Castle Araphen against attack, your _entire_ division would have been left stranded in the middle of enemy territory with no possibility of supplies or reinforcements!"

"I beg your pardon, Master Xavier," Narshen bowed, cold sweat running down his temple. "Does… the king know…?"

"If the king knew of your incompetence, you would have already been sacked from your position," Xavier coughed, his anger cooling. "Fortunately, I was the only one aware that Pherae made a move against Araphen. Under the king's orders, I am here to _oversee_ the remainder of the Lycian invasion, no matter how I busy I am with internal affairs. I will only aid you in the capacity of an advisor, but most of my attention is currently focused on managing the logistics of your current campaign."

"By logistics, I infer that you are referring to supplies, Master Xavier," Narshen said. "Fear not, my troops have already…"

"Pillaged the surrounding townships? Actually, they have done nothing of the sort," Xavier snorted. "Think about it, you fool. The more you antagonize the peasants, the more willing they are to oppose you. Your march would be impeded by guerilla attacks and efforts to conceal or spoil food and water. The more you harm the peasants, the more treacherous they may be. If left alone, most of the lower class do not mind who their overlord is. No, I will be supplying you with resources from Bern itself. Press your attack and concentrate your attention on Ostia."

"Master Xavier, Hector of Ostia is already dead," Narshen said in confusion. "Why would Ostia be a threat now that their leader is slain?"

"Because Pherae has already stolen a march on you," Xavier replied. "If Roy of Pherae leads the rescued troops from Araphen into Ostia, he may very well rebuild a Lycian Alliance army strong enough to challenge your division. Adding Ostia's formidable fortifications, you will have an abysmal time trying to take the city that even has two hundred defenders. Nevertheless, your orders are to push on and recapture the city."

"I… understand, it shall be done," Narshen took a deep breath to steady himself. "However, Master Xavier, what must I do if this Roy of Pherae decides to huddle behind Ostia's defenses? Is there a way I can breach the castle?"

"You want to breach the Invincible Castle? Are you crazy?" Xavier laughed. "If Roy of Pherae decides to, however unlikely given his youth, cower behind the walls of Ostia, you need only one item to force the Lycians into battle."

"What is that?"

Xavier's blind eyes opened, capturing Narshen in their golden pupils. "That is quite simple, Narshen. After all, I hear Hector of Ostia is interred near Castle Araphen. Why don't you _personally_ seek out him out?"

* * *

Cath, the self-styled Master Thief, bit juicily into an apple as she made her way out of Castle Thria.

Her orange ponytail swished this way and that as Cath looked around slowly to make sure no guards were in evidence. Seeing no one in sight, she hefted a well-sized knapsack on her shoulder and continued on her way. Having liberated quite a few choice items from the castle the previous night, Cath had taken a brief nap in the castle stockroom until dawn. The ensuing chaos in the morning when the theft was discovered nearly turned the castle upside down. No one, however, had thought to search the food supplies for an intruder. The magistrate of the castle apparently thought that the thief had already escaped during the night. Naturally, any organized pursuit would find no sign of any thief making off.

_Serves those idiots right_, Cath snickered to herself. _Since they all thought I escaped last night, no one will be on watch during the day! Nobles are only stuck-up, self-righteous, brainless pigs that are born into society with cushion underneath them. They're not like us, people who have to scrap and save to survive. They don't have to suffer from bandits like we do…_

That thought instantly sobered Cath's mood. Cath hated to recall any reminder of her hometown and father. Cath was born in a little town called Cortaw in Laus. Ten years ago, Marquess Erik ordered the town to be torched for failing to pay the required taxes. Though commonly regarded as a barbaric tactic, this punishment was frequently used across Elibe to deal with unruly peasants that refused to pay taxes, particularly in the Western Isles. Prior to the incident, Cortaw was raided by a group of roving bandits, making off with the coins intended for the annual tax. Marquess Erik was deaf to the pleas of the residents and ordered his soldiers to put Cortaw to the torch. Initially, the villagers refused to burn their own homes. However, after the soldiers threatened to use force, Cath's father relented. He was the one who took kindle to torch and set the entire town ablaze. Cath never forgave him for being unable to stand up to the Laus soldiers.

_If only that moron had the guts to resist them, we wouldn't have to suffer so much_, Cath thought bitterly as she recalled the villagers' sour glances of betrayal. _One of the damn reasons I left Cortaw was because I couldn't stand everyone looking at me like I grew a pair of horns. The gods know that we suffered enough through the years with poor harvests and frequent conscriptions. I'm sick and tired of sucking up to these nobles and their petty games. Let them kill each other for all I care, I wash my hands of their dealings_.

The sound of metal boots clanking against the stone floor shook Cath from her dark musings.

_Damn it, I knew I should have been watching where I was going instead of thinking about you, Dad! Thanks a lot for everything! _Looking around wildly, Cath found herself trapped in the middle of a long hallway with footsteps approaching her from either side. With no pillars or tapestries in the hallway, Cath was caught in the open with nowhere to hide. Her only avenue of escape lay in a heavy wooden door not three steps away from her.

With no time to contemplate why there was only one door in such a long hallway, Cath threw herself at the door. Colliding solidly with the unyielding wood, Cath ignored her stinging shoulder as she fished for her set of lock picks. Even after the first two picks failed and the steps drew ever closer, Cath did not panic in the slightest as she patiently coaxed the lock clean. A skilled thief knew how to pick a lock, leaving the entryway open, but disguise the lock enough to fool any basic examination. After all, what was the use of picking a lock and entering a locked room only to have a guard notice that someone had broken in?

Darting a glance to her left, Cath caught sight of a mailed boot coming into sight. With no more time left, she gave the pick one final twist before pushing against the door with all her might. As if the gods answered her prayers, the door swung open soundlessly, allowing the female thief to quickly slip inside a dark room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Panting and trying to control her pounding pulse, Cath pressed one ear to the door to ascertain if her intrusion had been detected. The clanking steps steadily approached the doorway, stopped for a brief moment, then continued on their way. As the footsteps grew fainter and fainter, Cath let out a sigh of relief as she stood facing the doorway. The thief was just noting that the entire room was bereft of light when Cath noticed that she was not alone in the room.

Before Cath could even turn around, one hand covered her mouth while another grabbed her around the waist and threw her to the floor. Wiggling like an eel, Cath struggled to get free from whoever was behind her. With both her hands, Cath reached up and yanked the hand covering her mouth just far enough for her to sink her teeth into it. Surprisingly, her assailant didn't even falter, merely drawing their hand back and delivering a solid punch into Cath's stomach that made the female thief see stars.

Forced to relinquish her hold, Cath stopped biting and sent her elbow directly into the stomach of her attacker. That yielded the response she wanted, as the attacker hissed in pain and let go of the thief. Finally free of any hold, Cath scrambled to her feet and sprinted for the door. Just as she set her hand on the door latch, Cath heard someone rapidly approaching her from behind and ducked. Cath barely dodged the incoming blow as her assailant delivered a powerful punch into the door where her head would have been.

_By the gods, this guy is freakishly strong! _Cath thought as she rolled away from the doorstep. Her only exit now controlled by her opponent, Cath unsheathed the knife by her side. Thieves were not the best fighters by reputation, and Cath counted on her speed and wit to get her out of trouble. After that punch to the stomach from earlier, Cath was not entirely sure that she could take this mysterious foe in this room.

Whoever this opponent was, they were not about to give Cath a breather. Kicking off from the doorway, the attacker charged where Cath was standing. It took Cath a moment to realize how her opponent could see so well in the room.

_You idiot, Cath, you came into this dark room from a lighted corridor, so your eyes are used to the light. Naturally, if you walk into a dark room, you'll be practically blind for a few long moments. This guy here has been in here for gods know how long. Of course _he_ would be able to see perfectly!_ _Sorry, don't hold this against me, pal._

Hearing her opponent bull forward, Cath timed her blow and struck downwards with a knife. With nowhere to run or hide, the thief needed to strike a decisive blow in order to buy time to escape. Loathe to kill, Cath prayed that her blow would only injure a shoulder and not strike a fatal blow. However, Cath was caught completely by surprise when her knife was ensnared by fabric.

Before Cath could respond to this sudden change, her attacker had already used the three layers of silk in their hand to wrench the knife from the thief's grasp. Tripping a stunned Cath with a quick low kick, the attack swiftly looped the silk in a crosswise-fashion around the young thief's neck. Without hesitation, Cath's opponent immediately started pulling on the silk. Cath immediately saw black and white spots exploding in her vision as her air supply was cut off. Struggling futilely with both hands to loosen the silk, Cath could only fight for her survival with no chance of striking against her opponent.

_Damn it, is this the end of me already?_ Cath thought as she fought laboriously for breath. It took a solid minute for her to notice that her opponent had stopped moving and was very still. Then Cath's panicky brain registered someone knocking on the thick wooden door.

"Lady Sue," a guard called out from outside, "are you still struggling against the door? Forget it, better warriors than you have tried and none have succeeded. Now keep it down, will you? This castle is already in an uproar with a thief breaking in yesterday. Sheesh…"

When the guard left, Cath managed to gasp out. "You are a woman!?"

Her attacker laughed slightly, "I could say the same of you."

Sue slowly removed the silk around Cath's neck. The thief slowly rubbed the circulation back into her neck while grimacing at the angry red marks she felt underneath her hands.

"Even if you're a woman, there is no way in hell you are a lady!" Cath complained. "I almost died right here!"

Sue shrugged as she pulled up the blinds on the two windows, allowing light to stream back into the room. "I am a Sacaen. On the plains, both men and women are taught to fight equally. I am only referred to as a lady here in Lycia. I think that is because of my mother's standing. Anyways, I apologize for attacking you. I thought you were one of the guards who lost his way in the castle."

"Yeah, they don't seem to be very bright, do they?" Cath agreed. "Well, I guess it's alright, seeing as how I'm alive and all. My name is Cath, a thief stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Might I ask what you doing locked up in a room so far from the plains?"

"That's a long story," Sue said. "The long and short of it is that I fled here after the sack of Bulgar. The marquess here, Lord Orun, asked me to stay until Lord Hector returned. However, his magistrate, a vile man named Wagner, has seized control and imprisoned me in here while condemning his master to die."

"Heh, I don't give a pickle what happens to this Lord Orun," Cath said. "However, I'm looking for a way out of this place. Are you coming?"

Sue was not fooled for an instant. "Coming with you or leaving at the same time?"

Cath grinned. "Alright, so you're not one of those singing, dancing, naïve hippies I've met from Sacae. I mean coming with me so we break out of this iron crate together."

"Very well, but our time is limited," Sue said. "We only have three more candle marks before armed guards bring a meal to this room. Wagner still sees me as a potential bargaining chip for Father Sky knows what. This way, guards under his pay frequently check my status."

"Three candle marks is more than enough time, we'll be gone in one."

"Wait," Sue said, "how do you plan on leaving the castle? Since we can't exactly leave from the battlements, the castle gate is the only exit. Needless to say, it's heavily guarded."

Cath laughed. "Oh, that's easy, we'll leave the same way I came in."

Mystified, there was little Sue could do save follow Cath towards the indicated exit. After taking several long minutes to bypass the guards on patrol, Sue and Cath made their way to the rear of the kitchen. There, they hitched a ride in one of the wagons set to depart from the castle. Sue was worried that the soldiers would search the wagon, but Cath assured her that this wouldn't be an issue.

"How can you be so confident?" Sue asked.

"Simple," Cath yawned, "soldiers are lazy. They obey orders that absolutely must be done, but they only do so reluctantly. You don't need to take a look around, simply use your nose and you'll understand what I mean."

Sue took a deep whiff and nearly gagged. "You could have warned me that we were traveling in a garbage dump!"

"Live and learn, girl," Cath grinned. "I consider this payback for the earlier ambush."

True to Cath's words, the soldiers standing guard at the gates did not pose much of a problem. They only made a cursory inspection from a safe distance of ten yards before deciding that moving through the muck was pointless. The captain on duty waved the wagon through before five minutes were up.

A few minutes more and the wagon slowly ambled its way into the Thrian marketplace. Cath, peeking over the side of the wagon, noticed quite a few soldiers going about their business in town. Considering the marketplace too hot to leave the wagon, Cath tugged on Sue's sleeve and motioned to allow the wagon to leave the market before departing. Sue initially nodded her consent, but stiffened immediately upon hearing a horse's neigh.

Noticing Sue's reaction, Cath whispered. "What is it, Sue?"

"That neigh, it can't be…" Sue didn't even finish her sentence. She immediately jumped from the rear of the wagon and took off for the nearest stables.

Cath muttered an oath as she too jumped from wagon. If Sue was captured by the soldiers in town, a witness might remember that the Sacaen traveled in a garbage wagon. There was no reason to remain in the wagon any longer, waiting for pursuers.

_I take it back, maybe she is one of those dim-witted types_. Cath thought darkly as she followed Sue to the stables. She arrived to find Sue in a heated argument with the stable manager and two boys near her age.

"I'm telling you that's my horse!" Sue shouted. "His name is Searineau and I rode him here all the way from Bulgar!"

"Listen little missy," the stable manager explained, "I don't care if you owned this whippersnapper of a horse or not in the past. The fact is that these two young gentlemen want to buy this horse for their journey to Ostia. Now, they have the money, do you?"

One of the "young gentlemen," a green-haired lad wearing a yellow cloak and clutching a book under his arm, bowed to Sue. "I'm sorry, milady, but the two of us have urgent business in Ostia. We simply must get there as soon as possible and…"

"This does not change that Searineau belongs to me!" Sue shouted. "Wagner must have sold him while he imprisoned me in the castle!"

"Excuse me," Cath said, patting the other young man, a boy with bushy blonde hair and also wearing a cloak. "What appears to be the problem?"

The boy that Cath asked turned around with an irritable look on his face. "Well, this lady over here," he pointed to Sue, "seems to think that she can make off with a horse without paying a copper coin. I have the money, but she won't let me buy the horse."

"Oh, is that the case?" Cath pretended to be surprised, "Tell you what, since this lady here is my friend, I'll make a deal with you. She seems rather intent on this horse, so I'll match your price for him and pay you a little bonus so you can procure a horse elsewhere. Is that a deal?"

The boy thought for a moment. "Well, I don't mind…"

"Do you mind showing me how much you offered?" Cath suggested innocently.

"Sure, no problem…" The boy patted his pocket and immediately frowned. "What the…? My wallet is gone!"

"Oh dear, such a shame," Cath said mockingly as she drew forth a wallet from her own pocket and handed it to the stable manager. "Here is my sum for the horse. Please hand the reins to my lady friend here."

The stable manager looked at the four of them and shrugged. Taking the wallet, he inspected its contents before nodding in agreement. Without another word, he handed Searineau's reins over to Sue and left the stable.

The boy in the cloak, however, turned red with rage when he saw the wallet Cath handed over. Rounding on Cath, he shouted. "Why you dirty thief! That was my wallet you took from me to pay for the horse!"

"Ah, ah," Cath shook a finger in his face, "who says it was your money in the first place? Tell me, my friend," Cath turned to the green-haired boy, "what is the name of your friend?"

The boy looked confused. "His name is Chad."

"See there?" Cath said triumphantly, "The name embroidered on that wallet was Terrance. Evidently, the wallet belonged to someone else before you pilfered it. Now, I merely borrowed your wallet just like you borrowed someone else's. Take my advice as your elder: you've got a long ways to go as a thief, Mr. Chad."

The green-haired boy looked disapprovingly at Chad. "Chad, have you been stealing again?"

Chad was not pleased at being outwitted. "Come on, Lou, we have to meet the Lycian Alliance Army in Ostia _somehow_! How are we going to catch up with them if we're still stuck here in Thria?"

"Ahem," Cath coughed, "I hate to disabuse you of that notion, but the Lycian Alliance Army arrived in Thria two days ago. I saw their camp a few miles east of here when I was on my way to the castle. I think a delegation of the leaders went into the castle to meet the magistrate of something."

Sue looked horrified. "But the magistrate, Wagner, is plotting to defect to Bern! The delegation might be killed! We have to warn them somehow!"

"Not my problem," Cath shrugged. "It's none of my business if the nobles decide to cut each other's throats. Do what you want, I'm out of here."

Cath hefted her goody bag as she left the stables. Just as she melted into the crowds, she heard the sound of hooves pounding the pavement. Turning slightly, she saw Sue urging her horse into a fast gallop towards the east.

_Good luck, Sue, maybe we'll meet again in the future_, Cath thought. Switching the bag to her left shoulder, Cath the Master Thief drifted into the crowds and was lost to sight.

* * *

Cecilia fought back an urge to sigh in frustration as an aide entered her office to deposit yet another stack of papers for her signature. With no orders from the king to mobilize the armies, Etruria's military forces were stuck in perpetual alert status. Every since King Mordred was confined to bed for the duration of his illness, the three highest generals in Etruria could only watch with mounting dread as Bern steadily conquered every nation in its path. Sooner or later, the great Bern war machine would be encroaching upon Etruria's borders, but the ruling monarch seemed uninterested in dealing with the crisis. Since only the royal family could sanction military action, Cecilia, Percival and Douglas waited in vain for King Mordred to issue the order to prepare for Etruria's defense. To complicate matters, Lord Roartz and his lackey Arcard still maintained a stranglehold over the Etrurian court, denying any audience with the king to solicit approval for mobilization.

_Etruria has an army of two thousand men even after the Silver Vanguard was dismantled, yet our country possesses even less initiative than the Lycian Alliance_, Cecilia thought as she stamped another paper with her seal. _We could only watch helplessly as Sacae and Ilia were ground underfoot. If even Lycia falls, there is no tangible way for Etruria to hold off a multi-fronted assault from Bern!_

Cecilia had already received preliminary reports regarding the siege of Araphen. To her shock and considerable dismay, Cecilia realized that Bern was capable of committing a thousand men in one siege while another thousand soldiers were spread across Ilia and Sacae. Even if Etruria deployed every professional soldier in her army, Bern's pure numerical advantage might turn a battle into a rout.

_Assuming we leave nearly five hundred soldiers to defend the capital, _Cecilia thought, _we would only have around fifteen hundred soldiers to split across the Ilian, Sacaen, and Lycian fronts. With his current power, King Zephiel is capable of amassing an army of four thousand standing soldiers, not counting any mercenaries hired as shock troops. Regardless of whether he advances with one large army or a series of smaller ones, we do not have a prayer of stopping his advance._

In her rich and glorious history, Etruria has won pitched battles with large armies fighting one another, but only at a high cost. It wasn't until Mark Valshannar vanquished the Pirate King's hordes at the Battle of Idina that Etruria first tasted such a smashing victory with few losses.

_Then again, that battle was fought between a tactical genius on one side and a charismatic hothead on the other. The end result was not too surprising since it was General Valshannar commanding the Etrurian host, _Cecilia mused. _This time, we cannot count on such a radical advantage. By all accounts, King Zephiel has quite a few capable commanders at his disposal, and he is by no means a fool himself. My guess is that should Etruria and Bern come to blows, he will be present at the battle, but the overall command will be delegated to Murdock or Brenya._

Thankfully, both Dragon Generals had already conducted their respective campaigns against Ilia and Sacae, giving the Etruria generals precious time and examples to study their tactics. In battle, Brenya preferred the indirect approach, utilizing massive ranged bombardments from mages, archers and ballista to soften the foe before delivering the finishing blow to a demoralized enemy with a furious charge of heavy horse. The reason why Brenya was so effective in Sacae was her stubbornness on maintaining formation. With armored knights and heavy cavalry forming a ring of steel that protected the more vulnerable archers and mages in the center from Sacaen charges, Brenya's division would be less susceptible to guerrilla tactics. Cecilia could easily see her mirroring Brenya's tactics. Both female generals favor disciplined, textbook-based patterns that could turn their battle into a slugfest.

_Dragon General Brenya and I might drag out the war for months at the least, _Cecilia thought as she tapped her pen on the next paper before her. _What worries me is the high probability that Murdock will command the invasion of Etruria._

Throughout King Desmond's lifetime and the earlier portions of King Zephiel's reign, Murdock appeared to be merely a loyal, competent bodyguard who just happened to hold the rank of Dragon General. There were many rumors floating around Elibe that he merely held the position due to his close friendship with the royal family. Many in Bern wondered if Murdock was even capable of fighting, given his gentle and patient nature.

Those rumors were utterly silenced after the Ilian campaign.

_Though not nearly as dominating as Lord Mark, Murdock possesses an uncanny grasp of tactics and has no hesitancy to use his many assets. He alone of all three Dragon Generals coordinates his flying wyvern corps with the land forces perfectly,_ Cecilia was starting to develop a headache just remembering the report on Murdock's training regime. _I daresay no one in Elibe trains his troops with more dedication than Murdock. Lord Mark once wrote in his memoirs that instituting a detailed and efficient training regime was essential to building a bond between leader and those who are led. Murdock's fanatical preparations would endear him to his troops, making them fight all the harder in battle._

Cecilia stopped her dark musings regarding Etruria's future to glare at the piles of paperwork scattered all over her desk. With nothing to do except occasionally meeting with her lieutenants and overseeing her division, Cecilia had developed the "brilliant" idea of going over paperwork to take her mind off the crisis. Instead of alleviating her headache, the task had only served to compound her frustration.

It was then someone knocked on her door. Huffing, Cecilia threw her pen down onto the table before shouting. "The door's open, come in!"

Her aide walked in. Clearly aware that the Mage General was not in one of her best moods, the man tried to keep the report short. "Mage General Cecilia, Sir Percival is here to see you. The Knight General claims that he brings news of Lycia."

Cecilia felt a strange sense of forboding. Taking a moment to compose herself, Cecilia said. "I understand. Please show Sir Percival in."

"I will do that immediately, ma'am."

The moment Percival walked into her office, Cecilia knew something had gone wrong. The Knight General only took one moment to close the door behind him before dropping his report. "Araphen has fallen."

Those three words nearly made Cecilia's heart stop. "What did you say?"

"Araphen has fallen," Percival repeated. "The garrison has been captured, the lords executed, and Lord Hector died in battle."

Cecilia fell back onto her chair. "The day we have long dreaded has come at last. With Lycia conquered, a war on three fronts is now inevitable."

"I concur," Percival admitted. "As we are speaking, Narshen's forces are moving across Lycia for Ostia. Once his forces are consolidated, Etruria…"

Cecilia looked up. "Wait, did you just say _Narshen_ is moving for Ostia?"

"What difference does it make?" Percival asked, "Lycia is as good as gone."

"That is where you are wrong, Percival," Cecilia shook her head. "Out of the three Dragon Generals, Narshen is the only one I have confidence to outwit and outmaneuver. With a proper show of force, we can forestall Lycia's fall long enough for His Majesty's government to extend a hand of support."

"You seek to make Lycia a part of Etruria's commonwealth like the Western Isles?" Percival asked.

"In name only," Cecilia said. "If Lycia is claimed as a part of Etruria's assets and placed under Etrurian protection, Narshen would think twice about invasion. Remember, he is moving directly for Ostia, leaving countless fortified cities poised to strike in his back. Narshen is counting on a swift stroke to Lycia's jugular at Ostia, but if the campaign is drawn out, he will find himself beset by hostile forces on all sides."

"In other words, he will be forced to retreat."

Cecilia nodded. "Every second is precious now, Percival. You know as well as I do that the nobles will block every measure for war until absolutely necessary. Most of the nobles have taken some part in the mineral trades in the Western Isles. If war were to break out…"

"All mining operations will be transferred to the Etrurian government to finance the war instead of privately maintained," Percival finished. "That would be synonymous to taking their money bags away from them."

"Exactly," Cecilia said. "Thus, they will only allow Etruria to declare war if Bern is already on our doorstep. By then, everything will be too late. If Lycia can buy Etruria another six months, I believe our preparations will be at an acceptable level."

"And if Bern attacks now through Ilia or Sacae?"

Cecilia threw up her hands. "That will depend on how competent you and I are in battle. We can probably fend off Murdock and Brenya for a short period of time, at least dragging out the invasion by waylaying them at every opportunity. However, I do not have much hope for victory if we were attacked presently. Fortunately, the seasons are currently with us and against them. Murdock and Brenya conducted their invasions during fall, just before the harsh winters set in. Now, with the winter snows in full force in Ilia, Murdock's division will be unable to move from their current location. Brenya is trying to rein the Sacaen tribes in line with the help of the Djute. I daresay they will be occupied for a while."

"However, you have not answered the most important question," Percival frowned. "Only the royal family can authorize military action. How do you plan on circumventing that little detail if we cannot even see His Majesty?"

Cecilia's grin turned a tad feral. "Simple, what they do not know won't hurt them."

Percival's eyes widened. "You can't possible mean…"

"Preemptive strike," Cecilia said. "I will let our _beloved_ Lord Roartz and Arcard handle the political repercussions. It's about time they pulled their weight anyways."

"You're going to get sacked for this," Percival predicted.

Cecilia shrugged. "Good, maybe then I can go freelance for Lycia like I did twenty years ago. The gods know that Lycians can be so much easier to deal with than Etrurians sometimes. So are you going to help me or not?"

Percival sighed. "If the situation was not so dire, I would order you tied to a chair to prevent your mad plans. Yet, I find that I simply cannot let you go off alone to fight for Etruria's future. I'll summon my legion immediately."

"Thank you," Cecilia said as she rose from her chair. "And remember, not a word to…"

"Not a word to Douglas, I know, I know."

* * *

By all accounts, Wagner should be pleased that his coup went off without a hitch. The guards were safely on his payroll, the annoying Sacaen girl confined to a tower, Lord Orun died quietly in his bed, and the general populace was blissfully unaware of the transfer of power. To top it all off, Wagner's connections within Bern had informd him of the utter destruction of the Lycian Alliance Army at Castle Araphen and triumphant march of the Bern army across Lycia. All that Wagner had to do was quickly surrender the castle to Bern's invading forces and his own assimilation into the Bern Kingdom was guaranteed. Everything was going according to plan…

_Until a certain frustratingly annoying, god-forsaken Roy of Pherae entered Thria's territorial borders at the head of two hundred men-at-arms,_ Wagner thought with irritation. _Someone loyal to Orun must have leaked the situation to Ostia. Ostia then dispatched Pherae to quell my little uprising._

Wagner knew perfectly well that Thria was in no condition to withstand Pherae if Roy chose to slay the conspirators. After Sir Pandarus departed for Araphen with the majority of Thria's available men-at-arms, there were roughly two dozen armed soldiers guarding the castle. Naturally, the small amount of soldiers facilitated the bribery process, but they were hopeless to challenge the powerful force that Roy had at his disposal. Even if Roy did not deploy his cavalry, the hundred odd soldiers at his command would quickly crush any resistance that Wagner could organize.

_Somehow, I need to arrange this so that Lord Roy only enters the castle with a few retainers, _Wagner mused. _This way, I can arrange an ambush within the throne room. With the retainers dead and Roy a captive, I will be able to bargain or negotiate with the army outside the castle until Bern arrives. If only I can hold out long enough, Bern can rout these pathetic peasants from Thria._ _The only problem is what excuse do I have to make sure Roy leaves his army outside the castle?_

While Wagner was brooding over his choices in the throne room, one of the Thrian soldiers that he converted approached. Seeing that his master did not notice his presence, the soldier coughed politely.

"Magistrate," the soldier said, "I bring a message from Lord Roy of Pherae."

_It would not do to scare my men; they're edgy enough as it is._ Wagner tried to hide his unease. "Have you greeted Lord Roy in the name of Lord Orun?"

"Yes, magistrate."

_Now for the more delicate part,_ Wagner thought as he continued, "I see. Does Lord Roy wish to move his army inside the castle?"

"On the contrary, magistrate, Lord Roy has asked that he enter the castle with a handful of attendants. Lord Roy believes that the army would pose unnecessary burdens upon the populace if he moves the army within the town. Therefore, he has ordered the army to encamp five miles east of the castle. Lord Roy currently awaits your reply at the gates of the castle."

_The gods _do _love me! The fifteen-year old brat has played right into my hands!_ Wagner could barely hide his excitement. "Is that his entire message?"

"Yes, magistrate," the soldier bowed before asking nervously. "But magistrate, what if Lord Roy already knows that Lord Orun is already dead? He may call for all of our heads!"

"You nitwit," Wagner's smile was condescending to say the least, "if Lord Roy already knew of our little rebellion, he wouldn't be wasting words informing us of his plans. He would have already ordered his forces to attack the castle. By accepting the greeting of our late master, Lord Roy is assuming that he is still alive. Naturally, he will be entering the castle to pay his respects."

"But how does that benefit us…" The soldier's eyes widened as he realized what Wagner was driving at. "Oh, I see…"

Wagner nodded. "So you do understand. Lord Roy with half a dozen retainers is certainly easier to deal with than Lord Roy with two hundred swords at his back, correct?"

"Yes, magistrate," the soldier nodded. "So what would you have us do?"

"You are a very smart lad, since you realize that your survival is entirely in my hands," Wagner sneered. "Tell your comrades that any thought of surrender better be wiped from their minds. In Lycia, the penalty for rebellion and assassinating one's lord is punishable by death! There is no escape if any of you chose to betray me!"

The soldier gulped. "I will convey your message, magistrate."

"Very good," Wagner continued. "Inform the men that we will be laying a snare for Lord Roy and his companions. Post two men at the castle gates, but _keep the gate open_! We must not raise any suspicion, lest they back out on their generous offer and bring in a larger body of men. I will lure them into the main conference chamber, where a few refreshments are in order. The rest of you will be waiting outside the room, awaiting my signal. When you hear me throw my goblet to the ground, rush into the room. I'd prefer to have as many live captives as possible, but any who resist are to be killed immediately. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, magistrate," the soldier saluted. "We will uphold our end of the plan."

"Be on your way," Wagner waved his hand. "Please convey Lord Orun's acceptance of Lord Roy's offer. Inform Pherae that, due to Lord Orun's illness, I will be the one welcoming him in the main conference chamber."

"At once, magistrate!"

After the soldier departed, Wagner signaled for an attendant to bring food and drinks to the conference chamber. Turning on his heel, the magistrate of Thria hurried for the room himself.

Entering the room, Wagner rubbed his hands in satisfaction. _I can still survive this mishap! With the necessary pawns in place, I can easily checkmate this young noble and provide additional reason for Bern to accept my surrender. Even if the worse comes to pass, I still have an ace up my sleeve_.

The main conference chamber was dominated by a large rectangular table along with the eight chairs that surrounded it. The chamber only had one entrance, and Wagner walked to the seat at the head of the table, farthest from the entrance. Taking a key from his pocket, Wagner unlocked the drawer there and withdrew an ancient tome.

After a quick review of the contents and feeling the power surging from the tome into his fingertips, Wagner was satisfied that his mind could still bear the burden of magical concentration. _There, that should be enough of a guarantee against mishap. Now, all I have to do is to wait for the players to assemble upon the prearranged stage._

He didn't have to wait long. Less than five minutes after Wagner had composed himself, a knock was heard on the great oaken doors that formed the entrance to the conference chamber. With a groan, the door was pushed aside to reveal a red-haired young man garbed in blue leggings and light chain mail. He was followed by several members of the church, as well as a lady of incredible beauty who wore a red dress.

_A small party as expected,_ Wagner thought as he rose from his seat and bowed deeply. "Lord Roy, I presume? Thria is honored with your presence. Regrettably, my master Lord Orun is confined to bed due to a heavy fever. I am Wagner, the magistrate of Thria. I am the one currently overseeing Thria for the duration of my lord's illness. I beg your forgiveness for such a rude welcome. Might I offer you some refreshments for the journey?"

Roy smiled as he accepted a cup of water. "Do not worry too much regarding the welcome, since I will only be staying for a short period of time. Magistrate Wagner, allow me to introduce my companions." The young noble extended a hand towards a blue-haired priest and the freckled-archer beside him. "This is Father Saul, a member of the St. Elimine Church, and Miss Dorothy, his assistant. The lady is Princess Guinevere of Bern, accompanied by her attendant, Sister Ellen."

_By the gods, it seems that another incredible opportunity has dropped into my lap!_ _To imagine a royal of Bern sitting in front of me!_ Wagner quickly reined in his daydreams before he revealed his eagerness. "Thria is blessed with your presence, princess. It has been too long since a royal last graced this humble land."

Guinevere smiled sadly. "Originally, I ventured into Lycia with hopes of peace between the two nations, but an armistice is rapidly becoming an elusive hope. I fear my brother has gone too far for the damage to be repaired…"

"Ah, Your Highness must be referring to the siege of Castle Araphen?" Wagner's tone was sympathetic. "Indeed, such an incredible waste of lives with the defeat of the Alliance at…"

"Just a minute," the priest named Saul interjected. "Magistrate Wagner, how did you know that Castle Araphen has already fallen? It has only been a week since Lord Roy departed Araphen with the rescued Alliance soldiers and barely ten days since the siege itself. As it stands, Lord Roy commands the only body of soldiers that has passed this far west and carries the news of Araphen. Pray explain this enigma to me…?"

_Damn my tongue and twice damn this nosy priest!_ Wagner pretended to be shocked by Saul's question to cover his error. "Why, Father Saul, rumors have been flying in all directions for this past week or so! I, for one, do not know where the rumors originated from, but all sorts of tales are sprouting regarding the fall of Araphen and the advance of Bern!"

Saul did not look entirely convinced. "I see… If you say so, then I suppose it is logical from that point of view."

Roy frowned with displeasure. "Magistrate Wagner, you are currently acting in place of Lord Orun. You would do well to remember your place and keep a tight lid on state affairs. It does not bode well if even high-ranking officials are gossiping amongst one another and speculating regarding state secrets. What will the people think?"

_Upstart brat, _Wagner thought as he bowed. "I apologize for my lack of décor, Lord Roy. I am concerned about the future of Lycia and spoke out of turn. Forgive me for my indiscretion."

"That is easily done," Roy said, his smile returning. "However, I would like to see Lord Orun as soon as possible. It is quite alright if Lord Orun is asleep, I would just like to inform…"

"Oh, my, pardon me," Wagner nearly panicked, "you cannot see Lord Orun, Lord Roy?"

Roy raised an eyebrow. "I _cannot_ see Lord Orun? Is there a reason?"

_Another slip of the tongue, what is wrong with me!?_ Wagner fumbled for a reply, "Well, you see, Lord Roy, my master is terribly ill and I fear the disease is extremely contagious. Several doctors who have visited him have also contacted the same disease and are also gravely ill. I simply allow another noble peer to risk their health in such a manner!"

"I was not aware that the illness was so serious," Roy sounded surprised. "When I asked the guards the state of Lord Orun's illness, I was informed that he had only caught a small chill and would return to his normal self in a few days."

"I hid the truth from the guards, telling them that it was only a small malady to alleviate their fears," Wagner lied. "With Sir Pandarus away at Araphen and Lord Orun ill, Thria could panic if the truth were known. Thus, I contrived to keep the situation a secret until Lord Orun recovered." _I knew I should have warned them to keep silent…_

"If that is the case," Ellen said, "do you mind if I examined Lord Orun briefly? I have considerable expertise in treating strange illnesses and fevers in Bern. Perchance I can do something to aid Lord Orun?"

"But the disease is extremely contagious!" Wagner exclaimed. "Merely taking a whiff of Lord Orun's breathing could contract the disease!"

"I am aware of most manners that a disease can be spread," Ellen answered, "so I will take appropriate precautions. It is my role as a healer, after all. I hope my lady can vouch for me?" Ellen directed a shy glance towards Guinevere.

Guinevere smiled gently at Ellen. "Indeed I can. I assure you, Magistrate Wagner, Ellen is incredibly talented in the healing arts. I have witnessed many mysterious ailments that have confounded many a doctor healed by her hands in no time. Please allow her to do what she can?"

_Curses, I am running out of excuses!_ Wagner clenched the goblet of wine in his hand. "I simply cannot allow you to endanger yourself, Miss Ellen. You are Princess Guinevere's attendant! It would be disastrous if you were to contact this disease during the princess's peace mission. What would she do without you?"

"Oh, right," Ellen looked crestfallen. "I am dreadfully sorry, milady. I forgot that I might be a burden to you…"

"Nonsense," Guinevere said, "you are only doing your duty as a healer. It is your pure heart that shows through when the first thought that occupies your mind are those afflicted by injury or illness. There is nothing to forgive."

Roy's frown deepened. "This is all very difficult. With no first hand account of Lord Orun's condition, there is little I can make a report on. How am I supposed to tell Lilina her step…"

Dorothy coughed. "Master Roy, you also need to report to Lord Hector regarding his half-brother's condition as well."

Roy flashed a glance at Dorothy, but immediately nodded afterwards. "Quite right, Lord Hector would be extremely interested as well."

_WHAT!? _"L-L-Lord Hector!?" Wagner gasped. "But Lord Hector is dead!"

Dorothy cocked her head to one side. "Magistrate Wagner, what do you mean by that?"

"I… I mean, you've all been to Araphen," Wagner babbled, "you should all know that Lord Hector has been slain in battle! He was killed by the King of Bern!"

Saul smiled tightly. "More rumors again?"

_Wait, what is with this change in atmosphere?_ Wagner suddenly noticed that everyone was gazing at him with a strange expression written on their faces. "What are you talking about, Father Saul? Everyone in Thria is talking about the death of Lord Hector at the hands of King Zephiel!"

"Curious, I must be deaf then," Saul said, "since I heard nothing regarding Lord Hector's demise. Surely you must know the origin of this tall tale?"

"Some Lycian survivor of the siege must have brought the tale," Wagner said, "thought I do not know who specifically…"

"Impossible," Roy said flatly. "Half of the survivors from Araphen are in my encampment five miles from here, while the other half is a day's march behind us on the road. No Lycian soldier could have spread such malicious lies."

"Magistrate Wagner, you appear to be quite knowledgeable about things you have no business knowing," Saul said. "It's true that the Lycian Alliance Army knows that Lord Hector died at Araphen, but only a select few are privy to the information that Lord Hector fell at the hands of King Zephiel. All told, less than twenty _Lycians_ know the truth. Could you please explain your expertise in perpetrating state secrets?"

_By the gods, these fiends set me up…!_ Wagner could think of little else as the goblet dropped from his nerveless hands. The goblet, heavily laden with wine, shattered into pieces on the hard masonry at his feet.

At the sound, the door leading out of the conference chamber burst open, revealing half a dozen armored spearmen. Extending their spears forward, they slowly advanced, keeping most of their weaponry trained upon Roy, the only one who wore a sword. Saul remained facing Wagner, while the other three stood between the priest and Roy.

Roy drew his sword in one smooth motion. Facing the spearmen with the others at his back, he growled. "So, it will be treachery along with treason, Wagner?"

_So be it, I have no other choice now._ Wagner tightly gripped the tome he took earlier from the conference table. "Lycia left me no choice but to consider my future options, Lord Roy. Bern's prospects are on the rise, why bother going down with Lycia's sinking ship?"

"Niggardly coward," Roy spat back. "To protect one's country to the last drop of blood is the duty of every soldier!"

"Then you may die for your beliefs," Wagner sniffed. "All I need now is Princess Guinevere to gain Bern's pardon for our rebellion against King Zephiel's sovereignty."

"_Our_ rebellion?" Roy roared. "Lycia fights for its independence and you dare to profane it as an insurrection!?"

"Kill them all," Wagner said, "but leave the princess alive."

The spearmen were about to cross the threshold of the doorway, but Roy met them before they could pass. The noble's sword flashed as he swung and parried, parting the spears to advance to a closer range. Obviously, the spears possessed more reach than Roy's sword, but if Roy could move within the spear's functional range, the long weapon would be useless.

Seeing the danger, the two foremost men-at-arms dropped their spears and drew swords. Supported by the four spears behind them, the two charged forward and struck. Roy kicked a chair into one man while he blocked the second with his sword. Dancing out of the way, the Pheraen lord barely averted being skewered by the spears. The moment Roy moved out of the way, Dorothy sent a feathered shaft whistling into one of the spearmen. The bolt struck the man in the chest, dropping him instantly. At such a close range, even the light plate mail that the men-at-arms wore were like paper before the power of a longbow.

_While they are busy dealing with Roy, I shall enjoy sending this priest to the depths of hell_. Wagner leered at Saul and Dorothy, "So, which one of you shall I kill first? _Arise, arcane pact of the abyss! I bid thee to come forth and obliterate…_"

Saul did not seem fazed in the slightest. "_O almighty God who judges the heavens, I implore thee to grant thy mercy…_"

_Is he praying for his life already?_ Wagner continued, "_…my enemies. Rain thy destructive plague upon all who oppose thy will._ Go forth!"

From Wagner's fingertips, a burst of nether energy surged forth and shot towards Saul. Watching with sadistic glee, Wagner could already envision the priest writhing on the ground as the dark magic tore his insides apart. Instead, the nether energy was immolated by white fire the instant the magic moved within a one foot radius around Saul.

"What the hell have you done?" Wagner screeched, "Why won't you just die?"

"_…and send thy avenging sword against all who blaspheme your name. Glorious king of kings, show us the sign that thou are indeed the one true God!_" Saul intoned as he held up a prayer book, "Never seen holy magic before, traitor?"

_No, no, how can this be happening to me?_ Wagner backed away. "No, please, have mercy on me!!"

"You who would have shown us no mercy," Saul barked as the holy magic homed in on Wagner, "shall receive none in kind!"

Wagner screeched in agony as the holy magic burned like fire when it struck him. The magic blasted his tome into a thousand pieces of fluttering paper and knocked Wagner back into the wall behind him.

Saul crossed himself. "Father in heaven, I send another soul to you for judgment. Judge him fairly for his sins and deeds. Amen."

Wagner could already feel his vision growing darker and darker. On his knees, Wagner spat out a mouthful of blood and stretched one hand towards Saul. "You… fools… There is nothing… that can stop… Bern now… Ha… I will be waiting for… all of you… in hell!"

Wagner was dead before he could even see his men chopped to pieces by Roy's knights.

* * *

_Chapter complete. Thank you for reading._


End file.
